


Baking Bad

by heyjupiter



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Minor Character Death, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse Pinkman and his former home-ec teacher Walter White are co-owners of Heisenbrew's Uncertainty, an up-and-coming food truck. The business is going great, but local chain Hermanos Cafecitos wants to buy them out, Jesse's girlfriend got into art school in New Zealand, and Mr. White won't let Jesse buy organic ingredients for his muffins. On these and other pressing concerns, Jesse seeks advice from his NA sponsor Mike. </p><p>Or: the ABQ by way of Portlandia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the thing about this story: it started off as a _joke_. I literally wrote the first paragraph or so to post on Tumblr as a joke, and then I found that I could _not_ stop writing it. It turns out that writing a gentle, hipster version of Breaking Bad where everyone makes better choices than they do in the real one was very therapeutic for me in the wake of the series finale.
> 
> I would like to dedicate this to Sophi & MaDonna for not telling me to stop writing this, even though I begged them to talk me out of it. Take responsibility for my actions, bitches.

"Jesse! Are you putting chili powder in the pumpkin spice lattes?" Mr. White asked, in his "disappointed teacher" tone, which was basically the only way Mr. White ever talked to him.

"Um, yeah, chili p is my trademark, yo."

Mr. White shook his head. "Jesse, we've talked about this. You have to respect the purity of the product. When people come to Heisenbrew's Uncertainty, they expect their drinks to be made the same way consistently. Do you not understand this? We can go over the drink recipes again."

"No, I got it, I just… think sometimes people might want something different. Like, what we do is art, right? People don't want to like, just look at the same painting of a door every time, or whatever. Like, sometimes you want to look at a flower."

Mr. White shook his head. "What we do isn't art. It's science. Consistency. That's what people want. Chili powder is for our Mexican hot chocolate only, nothing else, all right?"

"Fine, whatever," Jesse mumbled. He reached into his pocket and fidgeted with his bronze medallion, the mark of 18 months sober. 550 days, in fact. He was proud of it, and the stupid medallion served its stupid purpose, of reminding him of his accomplishment and warning him not to fuck it up, with the stupid Serenity Prayer printed on the back of it. 

Anyway, Serenity Prayer aside, he was too tired to fight on behalf of his spicy pumpkin spice latte, even though he knew it was delicious. The hours were definitely the worst part of the food truck business. But since Mr. White was still teaching night school classes at the vocational school, Jesse ended up with the vast majority of opening shifts, and even after over a year of business, he still hadn't really adjusted his sleep schedule.

"Look, Jesse, you make damn fine lattes when you put your mind to it. We both know it. You just have to apply yourself and follow directions." Mr. White studied Jesse's face for a moment and sighed. "The morning rush is over. Why don't you wash up and then head home?"

"Whatever," Jesse said again. He didn't really mind doing the dishes, he just resented the way Mr. White acted like Jesse was still his student. They were supposed to be partners, each with a 50/50 share in the food truck, but it rarely felt that way to Jesse. He put his headphones in and let the music drown out the sound of Mr. White's fake cheerfulness with a customer who just wanted black coffee and refused to be talked into trying one of their famous Blue Sky blueberry muffins. He zoned out and finished washing the pitchers, steamers, and utensils. Then he took off the dopey apron, grabbed his red down jacket, and stalked out the back door of the truck without another word to Mr. White.

He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and he swore when he realized he'd left his lighter in his car. Or his locker. Somewhere beside his pocket, anyway. But he really, really didn't want to go back to Heisenbrew's and get any shit from Mr. White about his addiction, so he grimly set off for his bus stop, fidgeting with the unlit cigarette as he went. He was not looking forward to waiting until he got off the bus and back to his car, which was parked at the Whites' house. Considering he drove his work to get to work, his commute was pretty annoying, especially on days when Jane couldn't pick him up.

Then he noticed an old white dude methodically smoking in front of an Hermanos Cafecitos. He didn't remember noticing this one before, but there was one of those on just about every block, they were like the Starbucks of the southwest. And now his smoker's second sense called him toward it.

"Hey man, got a light?" Jesse asked.

The guy nodded and handed Jesse a lighter without a word. "Thanks, I owe you one," Jesse said. He lit up and handed the lighter back. After the first wave of nicotine hit him, he realized the guy was wearing a yellow Hermanos Cafecitos polo shirt under his jacket. He looked a little older than the usual college students who worked at HC, and Jesse figured he was maybe a manager or something. His head was slightly tilted, and he looked sort of, like, inquisitive.

"You work here?" Jesse asked. The guy silently pointed to his nametag, which was partially obscured by his jacket. "Okay. Right. Well, thanks for the light, Mike, it was like super great chatting with you."

Just as he turned to leave, Mike said, "You're the kid who's been putting chili powder in the pumpkin spice lattes down at Heisenbrew's, right?"

Jesse shrugged. "Not anymore. My, uh, partner insisted that we take it off the menu."

Mike took a long, thoughtful drag and said, "It's an interesting flavor profile. It has potential."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Mike said. There was something about the way Mike talked that Jesse liked. He seemed like he just told stuff like it was, no bullshitting.

"Uh, thanks," Jesse said.

"Have you thought about adding a bit more vanilla to smooth out the chili?"

"Hey," Jesse said. "That could work. That could work!"

Mike nodded. "It could." 

Jesse nodded back and thought about it all the way back to his bus stop. When he got home, he kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed. Jane's pillow still smelled like her shampoo.

He woke up when she came home from her shift at ABQ Ink and flopped onto bed next to him.

"You smell delicious," she whispered.

"Thanks baby, you too."

"Seriously, did you bring home any muffins? I've been super craving one of the blueberry ones."

"Aw, sorry, I totally forgot. It was kinda, like, hectic when I left. But I'll bake you some. Oven fresh, yo!"

"Even better! God, those things are so addictive," Jane said. She kissed him and and he kissed her back and then they kinda forgot about muffins for awhile.

Eventually, though, Jane got back up to shower and Jesse went down to the kitchen. He turned on the radio, preheated the oven, and started mixing ingredients. He liked baking, and he knew he was good at it. He lost himself in the chopping and mixing. The worst part was waiting for them to bake, but he kept himself entertained with a drum solo on the counter. This was the kind of thing Mr. White would frown upon, but Jane didn't seem to mind--she was sitting at the kitchen table with damp hair, working on something in her sketchpad. Anyway, if she did mind, she totally forgave him when he brought her a plate of warm muffins.

She put down her sketchpad and took a bite. "Oh my God, these are amazing," she said. "They taste a little different… is it lavender?"

Jesse beamed. "Yeah, I got lavender oil at the farmer's market last weekend! That shit is the bomb, right?"

"Oh, yeah. So the bomb," Jane said, and it sounded super sexy, the way she said it. "Are you gonna sell these at the truck?"

"Nah, you know how fuckin' fussy Mr. White is about that Blue Sky blueberry thing. It's like, his baby. He'd never let me change the recipe."

"Well, whatever, his loss." She licked the crumbs off her fingers and said, "No news from New Zealand today. I'm going crazy waiting."

"Yeah. Well. Even if we don't get in, we could always just… go to New Zealand. Like, for vacation." Awhile ago, Jane had persuaded Jesse that they should apply for an arts exchange program with some university in New Zealand. It all seemed way too fancy for Jesse, and he really didn't think he had a shot in hell at getting in, but Jane had helped him put together a portfolio and shit, and he thought maybe the essay he'd written wasn't terrible. He'd written about how drawing made him feel better when his Aunt Jenny was dying. It felt a little too personal to send to a bunch of strangers in New Zealand, but Jane had insisted. She'd cried when she read it, and then put a bunch of commas and shit in it for him.

Jane got excited about checking the mail every day, sure it would bring them good news. Jesse felt a little nauseous about it, because he was pretty sure Jane would get accepted and he wouldn't, and then he'd be alone again. But the mail hadn't come today, so he had at least another day with her. 

"Yeah, we could," Jane said. "But we'll totally get in. We're awesome!"

The way she said it, Jesse almost believed it. "Yeah. Totally," he said. "Hey, I'm going outside for a smoke, you wanna come?"

"Nah, I'm gonna finish this," Jane said, nodding at her sketchbook. "One of my regulars wants a big Lord of the Rings tattoo across his whole back and I'm working out the design."

"Whoa, nerd alert. Uh, but it looks cool, though. I dig the way Frodo's sword looks, like, glowy." It wasn't like Jesse didn't like Lord of the Rings. He totally did. But he drew the line at putting it on his body. He was pretty sure.

"Yeah, it'll be tricky to get the color right on his skin. But I think it should be really awesome when it's done."

"Yeah, totally."

Jesse stepped out onto their balcony and lit up a Wilmington. He was halfway through it when his phone rang. He didn't have to look at the screen to know it was Mr. White. Everyone else he knew just texted him like a normal person. He considered letting it roll to voicemail but by now he knew Mr. White would just keep calling until he got what he wanted, so he sighed and said, "Yeah?"

"Hey, Jesse, how's it going?"

"What do you want, Mr. White?"

"I need you to work at the farmer's market tomorrow."

"Hey, no way! I worked it last Saturday. We trade weekends. That's our arrangement, yo."

"Something… came up."

"Well, I'm supposed to go with Jane to an art fair. It's important." 

"Look, I… I have a family emergency."

Jesse bit his lip and felt a mixture of guilt and suspicion. "Yeah? Is everyone okay? Your, your kids and all?"

"Yes, they're fine, I just… I can't work this Saturday. I'll do the next two, I promise."

"Is it your, you know, cancer? Are you doing okay?"

"I'm _fine_ , Jesse, I just… I just need you to work this Saturday. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah, fine, okay. But for real, you have to do the next two Saturdays. 50/50 split, right?"

"Yes, Jesse, that's the arrangement. Now, remember, the Farmer's Market opens at 7am, but you--"

"Yeah, God, I did it just fine last weekend, remember?"

"You opened late last weekend."

"Like, five minutes, yo. Jesus."

The line went silent, and Jesse mumbled, "You're _welcome_." He shoved his phone back in his pocket and lit another cigarette off his last butt, delaying having to tell Jane.

Finally, he slunk back inside. Jane looked up at him and said, "Oh no, tell me you don't have to work tomorrow."

Jesse sighed, no longer surprised at how easily Jane could read his face, and said, "Mr. White has a family emergency."

"Jesse! We're supposed to go to the art fair in Durango."

"I know! I told him. But we can totally still go."

"It's like a four hour drive."

"Well, the farmer's market is over at 1, so we can leave after that and stay the night, and have like all day Sunday there."

"You'll be a zombie afterward, though. Can't you get someone else to run the truck?"

"Mr. White wouldn't go for that. It's like, a two man operation."

"Isn't it about time you get a third man? It sounds like business is going great."

"Yeah, totally, and I'll totally bring that up with him later, but I just… I gotta do it, yo."

Jane said, "I know you think you owe him or something, but it's just really unfair that he treats you like this. You deserve better."

"I _do_ owe him," Jesse mumbled.

"Well, whatever, but the way I see it, he owes you just as much. You guys are supposed to be partners, right?"

"Look, I know, I know. But he said he'd work the next 2 weekends. We can go out of town all weekend, do whatever you want, I swear."

Jane pouted prettily and Jesse sighed. "I'm sorry, baby, honestly. And I'll totally owe you."

"Mr. White owes me," Jane said. 

"Oh, yeah, well, take it up with him, then. He'll love that."

"Maybe I will," Jane said. "Maybe I'll tattoo 'Property of Jane Margolis' on your forehead so he'll remember."

"Yeah, but do it like, in Elvish. That would look dope."

"Elvish? Nerd alert," Jane said. She smiled and Jesse knew he was forgiven, at least for now. 

The next morning--day 556 of sobriety--he got up at the crack of fuckin' dawn to get to the farmer's market and get everything set up on time. He made himself a red-eye and got settled in. He chatted with his regulars and lured in families with free cookies for kids. 

His friend Combo stopped by, empty handed and looking uncharacteristically grumpy. "Yo, you got apples for me?"

"Mr. White cancelled your order, man."

"What? No way, I gotta make apple cinnamon muffins. Seasonal and shit."

"Yeah, those muffins are dope," Combo agreed.

"Yeah, because I use, like, fresh, local, apples, yo."

"Well, I guess Mr. White wants to cut costs. He says he got apples already."

"What? From where?"

"He didn't exactly say. Just said he got 'em cheaper."

"That is some bullshit."

"You're telling me," Combo said.

"Well, fuck that, he had no right to cancel that order. We had a deal, yo, and my word is bond, right? You still got some apples?"

"Hell yeah, I got apples."

"Well, bring 'em over, damn!"

"Right on," Combo said, "I'll be right back with the goods." He returned shortly with a couple bushels of apples.

"Honeycrisp, yo," Jesse said. "That's what I'm talking about!" He high-fived Combo, opened the register, paid for the apples, and wrote out a receipt, all official. He and Mr. White were supposed to be partners, and Jesse was totally authorized to buy the raw materials he needed for his seasonal fucking muffins.

"Hell yeah!" Jesse said. He stowed the crate of apples in the truck's cooler and only then noticed the unassuming cardboard box of Red Delicious apples in there. Red _Delicious_? Was Mr. White fucking serious? 

"Hey, you guys growing any Braeburns this year?"

"Yeah, we got some, but they're like, a little harder to get to, you know? Up past the bluffs."

"Oh, like behind the cow houses?"

"Yeah, like where we used to fuck around on the 4-wheelers. Anyway, so, we haven't started harvesting back in that part of the orchard yet. Higher elevation, and all."

"Cool, well, when you guys do, will you set some aside for me? I think they might be the bomb for an apple spice cake recipe I'm working on."

"Yeah, totally. Maybe next week? They should be ready soon."

"Whenever."

"Awesome, man. Hey, party at my place tonight, you in?"

"Ah, I can't, I'm takin' my lady to Colorado. Next time, all right?"

"Yeah, totally, next time," Combo agreed cheerfully. "Anyway, I gotta get back to my stand. Catch you on the flip side."

"Yeah, word," Jesse said, nodding goodbye to Combo and starting up a latte for the lady who sold homemade alpaca wool accessories. She'd made him a very nice hat once.

Business was steady right up until the farmer's market wrapped up at 1. Jesse carefully set aside a spicy pumpkin spice latte and muffins for Jane, washed up, and put everything away, before driving back to Mr. White's garage. Mr. White's ugly-ass Aztek was gone, so presumably he was off taking care of his "family emergency." 

He drove his Tercel home and found Jane waiting for him with two bags packed. "Let's go! Scenic mountain sunsets await us!"

"Yeah, sunsets!" Jesse set her latte and muffin on the coffee table and high fived her.

"God, you're adorable. How was the farmer's market? No, tell me in the car, let's go."

"Alright, yeah, totally going," Jesse said. He picked up both the bags and took them out to the car. 

Durango was gorgeous and the art fair was, well, pretty cool. Jane had had to divert him away from a table of totally awesome glass bongs. Even sober, Jesse was still allowed to appreciate fine art, right? 

Sunday night when they got back to the ABQ, Jesse stepped out on the balcony, where he checked his phone and realized he had like five voicemails. He assumed they were from Mr. White but then he saw the list of missed calls. Badger, Skinny Pete, Badger, Wendy, Emilio, Badger, Badger, Badger, Combo … what the fuck did Badger want? He listened through a bunch of drunk dials from Combo's party. He felt a pang at having missed it. But Colorado had been nice too. He never used to take little trips or do like, anything besides get fucked up and play video games, before he'd met Jane. He was all, like, cultured now.

The morning of Jesse's 564th day of sobriety, he opened the truck and had a pleasant morning selling coffee and pastries to the good people of ABQ. Until Mr. White came in, started poking around, and said, "Jesse. Did you not see that we already had apples?"

"Yeah, good morning to you, too, Mr. White. I saw we had some fuckin' garbage, so I went ahead and got some like, _actual apples_ , as per our agreement with a local farmer."

"It's cheaper to get those apples from Washington. It'll make the apple-cinnamon muffins more profitable."

"God, Mr. White, no it won't, because nobody is going to buy muffins made from shitty-ass apples."

"As long as you follow the recipe exactly, the other spices should make up for any ingredients that are of… slightly lesser quality."

Jesse shook his head. "No way. We're using apples from Combo's farm. It's like, painted on the truck, that we use local produce. Truth in advertising, yo."

Walt waved a hand. "These apples are from Washington. They're local to the USA."

"That's bullshit, and you know it."

"Bullshit is how low our profit margins are. Bullshit is, who's going to feed my family?"

"Mr. White… "

"We have a customer, Jesse. We'll talk about this later."

Jesse shook his head. He let Mr. White get the customer, and took the box of shitty Red Delicious apples and left the food truck, slamming the door as he left.

It was actually kind of heavy and he was not looking forward to carrying the box the three blocks to the bus stop. Mike was out smoking in front of Hermanos Cafecitos and he raised his eyebrows slightly as Jesse walked past, struggling with the box of apples.

"You need a hand, kid?" Mike asked.

"Oh, uh, no thanks. I totally got this. Uh, I'm just gonna take a break for a sec, though," Jesse said, setting the box down.

"Suit yourself."

Jesse felt the need to explain, "Just so you know, like, these aren't the apples we use to bake with, okay? We use better ones. Like, organic and shit."

"Mmm."

"But my _partner_ wanted to cut some corners with these shitty fuckin' apples, and I'm…" Jesse trailed off and lit up a cigarette. "I'm sick of his shit."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm gonna throw these apples away, first of all. Or no, I guess people could still eat them. Maybe give them to a food pantry? Would they take, just, like, apples?"

"I'm sure somebody out there would be happy to take them off your hands," Mike agreed. "I meant, what are you gonna do about your partner?"

"I don't know," Jesse said. "He's such a dick sometimes."

"So what, then, do you gain from the partnership?"

Jesse shrugged. "He does, like, the business shit. I'm not too good at it. And, uh, I owe him."

"Hmm," Mike said. 

Jesse hastily stubbed out his cigarette, even though it was only half-done. "Uh. Sorry. I should go." He talked too much, he always did. This guy Mike didn't give a fuck about Jesse's stupid apple problem. Jesse picked up the apples again and took a step away.

"You might try taking those to First Baptist," he said. "They've got a soup kitchen downtown, a few blocks that way," Mike said, with a slight head tilt.

"Oh. Cool, thanks."

Jesse followed Mike's suggestion and dropped off the apples. He felt a mild flush of pride when the volunteer thanked him, followed by guilt. It wasn't like Jesse was a good person or anything. He just had some extra apples, and what else was he gonna do with them?

The next day, Mr. White told Jesse he was taking the cost of the shitty apples out of Jesse's share of the profits that week, and Jesse just said, "Whatever." 

He was about to grab his jacket and leave, when a regular customer approached and asked if they had any apple-cinnamon muffins left. "Yeah, comin' right up," Jesse said!

"Oh, great! I was afraid you'd be out by the time I got to take my break. These are so good. What kind of apples do you use? They have such a good flavor."

Jesse grinned. "They're locally grown, from Ortega Family Farm. Honeycrisps, yo!"

"That's fantastic. It's so nice to know where your food comes from."

Jesse held up his phone. "Mind if I post a picture of you on our Instagram? I love sharing our happy customers."

"Oh, sure. Does my hair look okay?" 

"Oh, yeah, like, salon quality, yo." Jesse snapped a picture and showed it to her.

She gave a thumbs up and said, "Is that a Hello Kitty case?"

"Umm, yeah, it like, came with the phone."

"It's cute," she said, giving him a warm smile.

"Uh, thanks. Enjoy your muffin, and have a great day!"

"Oh, I definitely will. See you around," she said, in a cute kinda flirty way.

Jesse Instagrammed the photo, "Another happy customer! Our apple-cinnamon muffins use local organic apples! #yeah {apple emoji}."

"Why do you waste your time with that?" Mr. White asked.

"It's not a waste! We get, like, a ton of likes."

"Oh, do we? And how much revenue do we make from that?"

"I don't know. It's not, like, measurable."

Mr. White gave him a long look like he was the dumbest human alive. Jesse rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever. Sorry for taking 30 fucking seconds to post a fucking picture of a girl and a muffin. See you tomorrow."

The rest of the week went pretty smoothly. Jesse could barely keep up with demand for his muffins, and Mr. White stopped talking shit about the apples. Then, on Jesse's 570th day of sobriety, Mr. White took the farmer's market shift like he'd agreed to, and Jesse slept in forever. He awoke to a voicemail from Mr. White saying, "That slacker friend of yours never showed with this week's apples, so I guess you'll have to find another source."

Jesse frowned. Combo was usually pretty reliable, but maybe he just hadn't wanted to deal with Mr. White. Jesse wouldn't blame him for that. He sent Combo a text that said, "Got apples??" He waited a few minutes for a reply, then called and left a voicemail. His friend was probably just busy taking everything back from the farmer's market.

Sure enough, an hour later, Combo called back and said, "Yo, you still want those Braeburns?"

"Yeah, totally. Mr. White said you were a no-show."

"I just didn't wanna talk to that asshole, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, one hundred percent."

"Anyway, we actually sold out today, but if you wanna swing by it'll take like, 5 minutes to pick some more."

"Mm, yeah, sure. I'll head over," Jesse said. Jane was working down at ABQ Ink all afternoon anyway.

"Meet me in front of the house, okay?"

Jesse hadn't been out to the Ortega farm in a few years, but he remembered the way. It was a ways out of town. Jesse liked the expanse of desert, and then the surprise of the green farm, irrigated into existence. He found Combo sitting on a folding chair in front of the house with a cold one. There was a huge metal tub of beer next to him. "Jesse, my man, have a drink! You missed the party but there's still enough for round 2."

"Yeah, all right," Jesse said. He didn't drink _much_ , these days, but a little once in awhile wouldn't hurt him. Some of the guys at NA said they were totally sober, like, nothing ever, but Jesse figured as long as he stayed away from the nacotics, he'd be fine with a beer once in awhile. He was only human, after all. He drank a couple with Combo and they bitched about Mr. White and some of the annoying customers at the farmer's market and whatever, and finally Jesse said, "We should probably go get those apples, yo. Jane's gonna be home soon and she'll like, wonder what took me so long."

"Yeah, yeah, the apples, totally," Combo said. "Let's take the 4-wheeler up there."

"Awesome. Can I drive?"

"Yeah, sure." It had been a few years since Jesse had come out and ridden the 4-wheeler, but Jesse figured it was like riding a bicycle. Or a car. Jesse drove cars all the time. He had a blast zipping across the Ortegas' property, up over the bluff to the part of the orchard where the Braeburns were. It was crazy to see the trees surrounded by desert. That was the power of science, right there. They filled a couple bushels with apples and stuck them on the back of the 4-wheeler. Jesse started it up and they headed back down to the front of the property. Then he noticed Chewie, one of the Ortegas' dogs running toward them, and he swerved hard to avoid hitting the dog. Too hard, apparently, because the 4-wheeler flipped. Jesse felt everything happen in slow motion. He saw the apples flying everywhere, and Chewie running away. He felt himself fly free, and he saw Combo crushed under the vehicle. He gasped and ran over to try to get him out, but he knew… he knew he was too late. Jesse started sobbing, and then he turned away and threw up. He reached in his pocket and found that his Hello Kitty phone had miraculously survived, and he shakily called 911. Then he sat there and waited. He thought he could probably have made it down to the house on foot from where they were, but then what? He'd have to tell Mrs. Ortega that he'd just killed her only son? Jesus.

Like a zombie, Jesse answered questions from the paramedics who eventually showed up. It still felt like he was outside his body, watching someone else do all this stuff. He heard himself say yeah, he'd been drinking, but just like one drink. He watched himself blow a Breathalyzer that squeaked under the legal limit. He heard himself explain about the Chewie, who the paramedics had to chase off because he wouldn't stop trying to lick Combo's face. He saw himself get taken to the hospital, where he was treated for shock and some broken ribs. At some point someone must have called Jane, because she showed up and held his hand and drove him home when they released him. She put him in bed, but he wasn't tired. He sat up and stared into space, but he couldn't stop seeing Combo. The way he'd looked, at the end… 

"Jesse… talk to me," Jane said. "You're kinda scaring me."

"I killed him," Jesse whispered.

Jane shook her head. "No, it was an accident, Jesse. It could have happened to anyone." 

"But it didn't. I was driving. And he's dead. And I'm not."

"It's not your fault, Jesse."

"Yeah? Then whose fault is it?" he yelled. "Whose?"

She shrugged. "Accidents happen."

"Well... well, they shouldn't," Jesse said.

Jane gave him a long look and said, "You're right, baby."

Then Jesse started crying again and felt like he'd never stop. Jane sat next to him and gently rubbed his back. Eventually, he stopped being awake.

On day 571, Jesse woke up to a room filled with sun, which rarely happened. "Oh shit," he moaned, "Mr. White's gonna kill me."

Jane said, "I called him and told him you couldn't go to work today."

"No, I should go…"

"Jesse, your ribs are broken, and you're not… it's not a good idea, okay? I'm worried about you."

"Wait, what did you tell Mr. White?"

"I told him you were in an accident and you couldn't go into work today. I said you'd talk to him later."

"But you didn't tell him about…"

"That's _all_ I told him."

"Okay," Jesse said. He didn't want Mr. White to know what he'd done. 

Jane called in sick to ABQ Ink, too, and spent the day hanging out with Jesse, fussing over him and shit. Jesse knew she was being nice, but it made him feel like shit. He didn't deserve to have a girlfriend that nice. But he felt too out of it to protest. The next day, too, Jesse stayed home. That night, though, Jane said, "Baby, I'm sorry, but I have an important appointment tonight. There's a regular who only wants me to do her ink. But I called Badger and Skinny Pete and they're gonna come over and hang out with you, okay?"

"No," Jesse said. "No way, I don't need them to babysit me."

"They're not babysitting you, Jesse, they're your friends. They care about you. And I really don't think you should be alone right now."

"I'll be fine."

"I'll just feel better knowing they're here, okay?" They heard a knock on the door, and Jane got up to let in his old friends. Jesse sighed.

"Hey, Jesse, how's it goin?" Skinny Pete asked.

"We, um, we heard, about. Stuff," Badger said.

"Yeah," Jesse said. "Stuff." He crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to wince. His fuckin' ribs hurt.

"Okay, well… I'll be back later. Bye, guys," Jane said.

"Sorry," Jesse said. "I didn't know she called you guys. I know you probably hate me."

Badger and Skinny Pete both looked surprised. "What? No way, who said we hate you?" Badger asked.

"I mean, you know. Because of Combo."

Skinny Pete said, "It was an accident, yo."

Badger said, "You got hurt too, man."

Jesse shrugged. "But I was the one driving. And I'm still alive."

"Nobody blames you," Badger said.

"Nuh uh," Skinny Pete said. "Everybody's glad you're okay."

Jesse asked, "Really?" and his voice almost didn't crack.

"Really," Badger said. 

"Totally," Skinny Pete said.

"What about like, Combo's mom?"

Badger and Skinny Pete shifted uncomfortably and finally Skinny Pete said, "I dunno, we ain't really talked to her? But she'll understand, though."

"Like, accidents happen," Badger said.

Jesse nodded and went back to staring into space. 

Eventually, Badger said, "Is it cool if we turn on the TV or something? It's, like, too quiet."

Jesse shrugged, and Badger found a Star Trek rerun that completely captivated him and Skinny Pete. Jesse spaced out.

After the episode was over, Badger said, "Man, Jesse… seriously, you okay?"

Skinny Pete said, "You want anything to drink or something?"

Badger fished in his pocket and pulled out a little ziplock bag. "We got some of this leftover from the party last weekend… I know you're clean and everything but, like, a little bit won't hurt? Might help, even?"

Jesse looked at his friends, at the bag. He thought about how great it would feel to not feel anything, for real.

"Yeah," he said. "Just a little bit, I guess." 

Of course all his friends used to use. Weed, meth, coke, whatever was around. That was like, how they'd met. But Jesse'd been clean for like, over a year. 571 days, for Jesse. Scared straight or whatever, and plus Jane didn't like it. Badger and Skinny Pete were both on probation now, but Jesse knew they still used occasionally. 

God, the first hit felt so great. It had been so long. Why had he even wanted to stop using? What did it matter, anyway?

Things were kind of a blur from then until Jane got home. 

"God, seriously, you guys?" he heard her ask.

Badger shrugged. "He was just sitting there, man. It was spooky."

"We were just trying to help," Skinny Pete said.

"Get out," Jane said. "Thanks for nothing."

"Oh, hey, what?" Jesse asked. "They were just trying to help."

"God dammit, Jesse," Jane said, and as Badger and Skinny Pete slunk out the door, Jesse saw clearly what would happen next. Jane would leave him, because he was a worthless junkie. Mr. White would fire him, and he'd end up dying on the streets. It was probably what he deserved, though. Still, he teared up a little, thinking about it. 

Then Jane said, "It's okay. Setbacks happen. We're taking you to a meeting first thing tomorrow."

"What?" Jesse asked.

"A meeting. NA. Okay?"

"You're not… breaking up with me?"

"What? No. God, you are dumb. Let's go to bed." 

"Mixed messages," Jesse mumbled. Jane sighed and half-dragged him to bed. She tucked him in like he was a little kid and made him take a sleeping pill. Then she sat up in bed next to him until he finally fell into blackness. He woke up feeling blank and bleary. It was late in the morning, and Jane was sitting next to him, sketching.

Jane said, "Morning. How do you feel?"

Jesse shrugged. He felt shitty, but he thought he deserved it.

Jane said, "Okay, well, I looked it up. There's an NA meeting tonight at 6 the Methodist Church, but there's an AA meeting at 12 over at the hospital."

Jesse made a face. "I hate the hospital. And I'm not an alcoholic." When he'd first started recovery, he'd gone to, like, a lot of meetings. Now he pretty much just went to one weekly NA meeting, just to like, check in..

"I know, I know, but, you know, just to go… I think we should go to both. Just… we should go."

"Aw, you don't have to go…"

Jane rolled her eyes and said, "I'm your sponsor, remember? I'll drive. We have plenty of time to stop at Denny's if you want."

"Yeah? Denny's?" Jesse asked.

"Yeah. Denny's," Jane said. 

"Okay," Jesse agreed. He was aware enough to know she was manipulating him with Denny's, but it still surprised Jesse that she cared enough to trap him with breakfast foods.

They spent hours at Denny's, drinking endless cups of shitty coffee and doodling on their placemats. Jane didn't make him talk, but she did clear her throat and drag him out the door when it was time for the meeting. Even though they'd just drank coffee for hours, Jesse stopped and got a foam cup full of coffee that was even shittier than Denny's. It was more of a prop than anything else, but it was important. He and Jane sat near the edge of the room and quietly watched people fill in. He recognized a few people from other meetings, but they didn't acknowledge each other. He sat through the opening prayer, readings, and introductions. Then people just started sharing their fucked up stories. Jane nudged him, and Jesse sighed. He kind of wanted to wait until the NA meeting, his regular crew, but maybe he should just get it out. 

"Um, yo, my name is Jesse, and I'm an addict, or whatever." He paused and waited to be greeted, then said, "Um, I was like, 18 months sober, until yesterday, I guess. My friend Combo, um, he died? In an accident? Um, on his farm. Um. I was. It was my fault. I was driving… there was a dog… and I didn't… I didn't want to hit the dog… And then last night, some of my friends came over, and we did a little bit of crystal? God. It was really good to just. Not feel that. Not feel anything. Or feel everything? Kinda? You know?"

Heads nodded around the room.

At the end of the meeting, the chairman asked if anyone wanted to trade in a wet chip for a dry one. Jesse sighed and handed over his 18-month chip for a 24-hour one. He felt embarrassed, but the meeting chairman looked at him with understanding. "It's okay, son. Just take it one day at a time. You'll get through this."

Jesse teared up and nodded. He pocketed the chip and turned to leave. On his way out the door, he made eye contact with someone he recognized and gave a nod. The guy gave him the faintest nod back, and in the hallway, Jane asked, "Who was that guy?"

Jesse said, "I don't really know him, I think I just recognized him from another meeting. Or, no, wait, he's the guy from Hermanos Cafecitos."

Jane laughed. "Since when do you go to Hermanos Cafecitos? Sleeping with the enemy?"

"No, I mean, I didn't, just like sometimes he takes smoke breaks outside when I'm on my way to the bus stop. No big deal."

Jane nodded and took his hand. "How are you doing?"

Jesse shrugged. "Fine, I guess, whatever."

Jane made a sympathetic face and said, "Let's do something. Let's go to the park. It's nice out."

"Yeah, okay," Jesse said. They found two swings and sat, side by side. Jane babysat him the rest of the day, taking him by the arm back home and then out to the NA meeting.

Again, he took his foam cup prop and sat quietly, listening to the prayers and the sharing. He sighed and repeated his story, this time adding, "But I know I'm lucky, yo, cuz Jane is like, the best sponsor ever, and the best girlfriend ever."

Jane had the face she made when she was trying to pretend like she didn't like it when Jesse said stuff like that, but Jesse knew she really did like it. 

Afterward, they got pizza, and Jane went with Jesse down to the commercial kitchen coop to bake some muffins for the truck. They had to be like, super careful about food prep, since Mr. White's brother-in-law was a health inspector and all.

The next morning Jesse's alarm went off at 4:30, and Jane woke up with him. "Are you sure you're up to going to work today?" she asked.

"No, yeah, I have to," he said. "I never even called Mr. White back yesterday--"

"Seriously, fuck Mr. White," Jane said. "You guys are partners. You covered for his 'family emergency', he can get yours for a couple days."

"Nah, nah, I should go. Anyway I think it'll be good to do some work. Y'know, take my mind off it. And everything."

Jane looked him in the eye for a long minute and then nodded. "Okay, J. But call me if you need anything, okay? Anything."

Jesse got dressed and went to pick up the food truck from Mr. White's house. He was right on time, but the truck was already gone. He swore and checked his phone and was 0% surprised to find some bitch-ass message from Mr. White saying if Jesse wasn't responsible enough to make it to work on time then he'd just go ahead without him.

Jesse stood in the garage for a long moment, fingering his 24-hour chip. He looked down at the Serenity Prayer printed on the back of it. "Grant me the patience to deal with Mr. White, yo," he mumbled. 

He startled when the garage door opened. Mrs. White stood in the door, cradling baby Holly.

"Oh, um, good morning, Mrs. White," he mumbled. "And hi, Holly. Um, sorry if I woke you."

She shook her head. "No, we were up anyway. Holly's an early riser."

"Oh. Good. Um, you guys okay?"

Mrs. White gave a half-smile. "We're fine. Babies just keep their own schedule."

"No, I mean, Mr. White said there was, um, a family emergency? Last weekend? Is everything okay?"

She furrowed her brow and said, "Oh. Oh. Right. Yes, we're all fine, thanks. Did you need something? Walt already took the truck. He said you were in an accident."

"Yeah, um, no, I'm better. I guess we had some miscommunication so I, uh, just came here."

"You okay, Jesse? You look… tired."

Jesse shrugged. "It's like not even 5am, yo. "

"Of course." Mrs. White studied his face. "Are you sure you're okay?

"Yeah, I'm just totally super. Well, I'm gonna go, uh, catch up with Mr. White. See you later."

Mrs. White looked concerned. Which, honestly, she usually looked kind of concerned whenever she interacted with Jesse, so whatever. She said, "Well, okay. Have a good day."

"Thanks, yo. You too. And you too, Holly," he said, waving his fingers in her face. Holly laughed, and Jesse laughed back. She was so cute, it was hard to believe she came from Mr. White. He fingered the chip in his pocket, thought about baby laughter, and went to the park downtown where they set up the truck on weekday mornings. He pulled up next to the truck and started unloading his trays of muffins and cookies into the truck.

"Oh, how nice of you to join me," Mr. White said.

"Jesus Christ, good morning to you too. Yeah, I'm feeling better, thanks for fucking asking."

Mr. White wordlessly took the muffins from him and put them in the display case. Then he looked at Jesse in the light of the truck and said, "Hey. Everything okay?"

Jesse felt tears welling up in his eyes and hated them. "Fantastic. Never fucking better."

Mr. White said, "Son, I'm sorry… if I was harsh. I just… want you to take our business seriously."

"I take it plenty seriously! God, I didn't know you were the only one who was allowed to take a sick day around here."

Mr. White put a hand on Jesse's shoulder and said, "You're right." And that was enough to set Jesse to full-fledged sobbing.

"Okay. Okay," Mr. White said. "Everything's gonna be fine, son."

Jesse slid down and sat on the truck's narrow floor space. "Combo's dead," he said.

"Which… which one is Combo?" Walt asked.

"Oh, God, you so _would_ ask that," Jesse moaned. "He's the guy you tried to stiff on apples? Remember?"

Mr. White let out a scoff and said, "I tried to renegotiate with him and found him to be very inflexible on the price point. We're running a business here."

Jesse sobbed, and Mr. White said, "I… we can talk about the apples later. I'm sorry for your loss, Jesse, really."

"He was one of my best friends."

"Shh, okay," Mr. White said, like the way you might talk to a scared dog. 

Jesse wiped his face with his sleeve and said, "It's… I'm fine. Just gotta take it day by day, right?"

"Right," Mr. White said encouragingly.

"Uh. Let me just go get some fresh air for a second," Jesse said. "I, uh, need to move my car, anyway." He grabbed a couple paper towels and stepped out the back of the truck before Mr. White could say anything. He wiped his face again and moved his car. He couldn't quite say what had compelled him, but he parked it in the lot of Hermanos Cafecitos. And then he walked inside. It had been years since he'd been inside a Hermanos Cafecitos, but they all had that same kind of corporate faux-artsy feel. They'd just opened and there were a few early birds in for a morning cup, but it was too early for most of the work rush. 

A nerdy looking guy in a yellow polo shirt, whose nametag identified him as Gale, said, "Hola, welcome to Hermanos Cafecitos! What can I brew for you?"

Jesse tugged at his sleeves and said, "Uh, yeah, just, uh, black coffee?"

"What size would you like?" Gale asked politely. 

"Just, small."

"And would you like Colombian, French, Ethiopian, or our special Hermanos blend?"

"Uh… French. Small French roast."

"Room for cream?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Great! I've got you down for a pequeno French with room," Gale said. The dude was like, way too cheerful for this early in the morning. 

Gale scrawled "Jesse" on the cup, fussily filled it with coffee, and handed it over.

"Have a great day!"

"Yeah, whatever," Jesse said. Wait, how had Gale known his name? Whatever, Heisenbrew's Uncertainty had gotten some local press lately. That guy Mike had recognized him too. It was cool, he guessed. He took his filthy corporate coffee, sat down at an armchair next to a shitty fake fireplace, and cried. 

"Look, this is none of my business, but you are really bumming out the other customers," a voice said.

Jesse looked up and saw Mike looking at him. "Sorry," Jesse said, sniffing.

"Do you want me to call your sponsor?" Mike asked, surprising him.

"No… no, that's okay. I'm not, like, I mean, I'm… okay."

"Yeah. I can tell."

Jesse took a long sip of his coffee. It was actually really good coffee, which made him feel worse. "I need to get back to the truck anyway. I shouldn't even be here. Sorry."

Mike said, mildly, "We're a public establishment."

Jesse half-smiled at that. "Anyway. Sorry. I didn't mean to, you know, whatever."

He rose to leave, and Mike said, "Just take it one day at a time and you'll be okay." Mike pursed his lips and then reached for his wallet. He handed Jesse a business card and said, "I'm sure you know this already, but you're really… not supposed to date your sponsor. So just hang onto that. You can give me a call if you need anything. Okay?"

"Um. Thanks," Jesse said, furious to feel tears welling up in his eyes again. 

Mike nodded once and turned to leave. Jesse said, "Wait. Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Why?"

Mike shrugged. "You seem like a good kid."

Jesse blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. He'd expected more AA bullshit or whatever, and he was too surprised to say anything else before Mike disappeared into the back of the coffee shop. Jesse threw his half-full paper cup in the trash and went back to the truck, fingering his chip as he walked. Thank Christ, Mr. White didn't say anything about how long it had been. Jesse washed his hands and set about making sure everything was in order for the morning's rush. "Hey, uh, Mr. White, you can go home. I know you gotta teach and everything. I'm fine, really."

Mr. White sized him up. "You sure about that, son?"

"Yeah, totally. No problem," Jesse said.

"All right," Mr. White said. "Well. I'll come back around 11. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Jesse was relieved when Mr. White left, and more than happy to distract himself by chatting with his regulars. During slow times, he amused himself by tweeting pictures of his latte art. @heisenbrew was very popular on Twitter and Instagram, thanks to Jesse. Walt never posted anything besides terse reminders about where the truck was parked. 

Jane came by around 10. Jesse carefully shaped a heart in the foam of her latte, and she grinned. "Doing okay, baby?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jesse said.

"I'm proud of you," she said.

"Oh, yeah, I've been working super hard on my latte art."

She laughed. "No, I mean, just… you're hanging in here."

"One day at a time, right?" he asked.

Jane smiled. "Right. Well, I just wanted to stop by and say hey. You need anything?"

Jesse leaned way out over the counter and said, "A kiss?"

"You got it," Jane said. She kissed him and said, "Okay, well, I'll be back for you when your shift is over, okay?"

"Yeah, for sure. Love you."

"Love you too," Jane said, blowing him another kiss as she left. Jesse held on to the memory of that for the rest of his shift. Maybe he could get through this. Jane thought he could.

Jesse stayed busy with the truck, and baking, and meetings, and whatever projects Jane made up for him. He told her he couldn't bear to go to Combo's funeral, and she said okay. But he sent flowers, like, really nice ones. And on day 7 of his re-sobriety, he stopped by the house apologize to Combo's family. Jane went with him, but he asked her to wait in the car. He kinda felt like he had to do it himself, even though it was hard. Maybe the hardest thing he'd ever done.

He broke down sobbing halfway through his apology, which he was distantly aware was convoluted, but he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say, and he wasn't sure if he ever would. Combo's mom gave him a hug. It hurt his ribs but he didn't say anything.

"You were a good friend to him, Jesse," she said.

"But… it was my fault," he said, confused.

She shook her head and said, "I always hated that 4-wheeler."

"Oh," Jesse said. 

She gave him a long look and said, "I'm praying for you, Jesse Pinkman."

"Thanks. Uh, you too," he said. He fidgeted with the chip in his pocket for a moment and said, "Um, let me know if I can help? With anything?"

"Thank you, Jesse. I will."

"Okay. Um. See you around?"

She smiled distantly and nodded. Jesse took it as his cue to leave. He awkwardly nodded at Combo's other relatives and retreated to the car, where he sobbed and Jane rubbed his shoulders.

"I'm so proud of you, Jesse," she said, and he didn't have the energy to argue with her.

On day 8, Saul Goodman, the lawyer who'd helped Jesse and Mr. White make sure their food truck was nice and legal, called to tell Jesse that the accident had been deemed no-fault, and the Ortegas weren't pressing charges. "So congrats, you're off the hook!" Saul said, and Jesse hung up on him and stared at the ceiling.

On day 10, Jane made him to go to a stupid grief counselor, who told him his stupid feelings were normal and gave him a pamphlet telling him to avoid substances like coffee and alcohol, since those things would interfere with his ability to grieve. Jesse promised Jane he'd keep going to daily meetings if she didn't make him go back to the grief counselor, and she agreed.

As much as Jesse hated all the stupid NA and AA cliches, they did kind of turn out to be true. He took things one day at a time and they went... okay. He still felt sort of detached, but as time went on, it hurt less. He burst into tears for no reason less frequently, and he no longer had nightmares about Combo's mangled body _every_ night. He fell into the habit of stopping for a smoke break with Mike after work most days. Mostly they didn't even really talk, just stood together in silence. But it was kinda nice. He hadn't told Walt that he'd slipped up, because he just didn't want to hear any shit about it. Mr. White already thought Jesse was a worthless junkie. But Mike quietly congratulated Jesse on re-earning his 30 day chip, and Jesse felt like it meant something.

On day 47 of re-sobriety, Jesse was working at the truck like usual when a very tidily-dressed man in a yellow button-down shirt came up to the register.

Jesse said, "Hey, man, what can I get for you?"

"I'll have a small coffee and one of your famous Blue Sky blueberry muffins, please."

"Great choice, yo." Jesse rang him up, pulled a muffin out of the display case, and handed him a paper cup of coffee. "We only have one size of coffee actually. But you get 25 cents off if you bring your own mug, just FYI."

"I see. "

"Like, save the earth, and all that."

"Yes, and a cost-saving measure for you as well."

"Yeah, win-win," Jesse said.

The guy sipped his coffee and said, "Tell me, are you the owner of this food truck?"

"Uh, half-owner," Jesse said. 

"Interesting. Well, I have a proposition for you. And the other half-owner, of course." He put a briefcase on the counter and handed Jesse a folder. "Take some time to look it over. I'll be in contact with you."

"Yeah, okay," Jesse said. "See you around, then."

"Indeed."

The guy headed off at a brisk pace, and another customer took his place before Jesse had time to look over the folder. Business was steady until Mr. White came back, and by then Jesse had kinda forgotten about it.

Mr. White let himself in the truck and zeroed in on the folder, which he immediately perused. "Hermanos Cafecitos wants to buy us out?"

"Wait, what?" Jesse asked.

Mr. White waved the folder at him and Jesse said, "Oh, shit, I totally forgot about that!"

"You forgot."

Jesse shrugged. "Some fancy guy in a yellow shirt dropped it off awhile ago, but then it got busy so I didn't have a chance to look at it, yo."

"Uh huh."

"Well, how much are they offering?"

"Jesse! Heisenbrew is not for sale. At any price."

"I dunno. I think there's a price I might sell it at."

"Our reputation is building. I think before long we'll be able to set up a second truck, hire a couple employees. You can't put a price on the brand loyalty our customers have to us," Mr. White said, and Jesse had flashbacks to sitting through his insufferable home ec classes.

"Okay, whatever, well, like I said, I didn't even look at it. The guy said he'd be in touch with us."

"Well, we are certainly _not_ in the market to sell. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, okay, whatever. No big deal, God."

"I thought our business was important to you."

"Yeah, no, it totally is, Mr. White. But it's still kinda cool that someone might want to buy it, right? Means we're doing something right. Right?"

Mr. White gave a weary smile and said, "Yes, Jesse, I suppose we are."

"Yeah. Okay. Well, I'm just gonna wash up and then I'm gonna head out."

"That's fine, Jesse."

Jesse finished up, nodded goodbye to Mr. White, and went home. 

On day 50, Jesse came home to find Jane sitting at the kitchen table, staring at two envelopes. 

"Hey, what's going on?" he asked. He came to sit next to her and immediately realized what was on the table. Two envelopes, both from the Design and Arts College of New Zealand. One big one, one small one. One for Jane, one for him. He'd always expected this--no way was he good enough to get into art school, or whatever--but it still kind of stung. Still, he said, "Congratulations, baby! I'm so proud of you!" and meant it.

"I haven't opened them yet," she said softly.

"Yeah, but we all know what the big envelope means, right? Go on, open it."

She bit her lip. "On three, we both open them, okay?"

"Sure," Jesse agreed. 

"One, two, three…" she said, and Jesse obligingly opened his envelope. He stopped reading after "Dear Mr. Pinkman, We regret to inform you…" and peered over to look at Jane's.

"I got in, I really got in!" she said. "Can you believe it?"

"Of course I can, you're a totally great artist, like, amazing."

"But you are too, so I don't know why you didn't get in…"

Jesse laughed. "Come on. I doubt they were too impressed with my GED."

"But your portfolio," Jane said. "And your essay…"

Jesse shrugged. "You had to know it was a long shot, right? It's okay. When do you leave?"

"I'm not going without you!"

"Oh, hey, no, you totally have to go. You shouldn't have to miss out on New Zealand just because I'm a fuck-up."

"Jesse, you're not a fuck-up! Stop saying that."

"Okay, yeah, whatever, I'm a total champion. The point is, you have to go, oh my God. And I'll come to visit. And we'll go to Rivendell."

Jane smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Well, there's some time before I have to decide. They'd need a deposit by November 1st to start in January."

"Let's celebrate! Ice cream?"

"Okay, yeah, ice cream," Jane said. She was looking at him a bit strangely, but she didn't say anything else.

They got waffle cones from Cold Stone and took them to the park. Jesse noticed Mike on a bench nearby, with a cute little girl holding an ice cream cone about as big as her face. Jesse smiled and nodded, but didn't approach them. Mike nodded back.

Jane said, "Oh, that's your frenemy from Hermanos Cafecitos, right?"

"Frenemy? What am I, a teenage girl?"

"That would explain a few things, to be honest."

"Hey, I told you, that Hello Kitty case came with the phone, yo."

She laughed and licked dripping ice cream off her cone and Jesse thought his heart might explode if she went to New Zealand without him. But he also knew he couldn't live with himself if he stopped her from getting her dream. Jane's dad had tried to break them up when they first got together. He'd heard her dad call him a burnout loser who would drag Jane down with him, and he desperately did not want to be that. Jane deserved better.

To Jesse's surprise, Mike stopped by their bench and introduced his granddaughter Kaylee to them. Jesse said, "Hey Kaylee, you guys should come by Heisenbrew's sometime. I'll totally give you free cookies."

"Grandpa gives me free cookies from his store," she said.

"That's true, but mine are better. Anyway, why not get two free cookies?"

"He raises good points, Kaylee," Mike said gravely. "Just don't tell your mom. She thinks I just give you carrot sticks. Got it?"

"Got it. Can we go play on the swings now?"

"You go ahead. I'll catch up with you," Mike said.

"I want you to push me."

"I will. Just give me one minute, okay, sweetheart?"

"Okay." She ran off for the swings and Mike said, "How are you doing, Jesse?"

"Um, fine."

Mike gave him a long look. "You sure?"

"Yeah, God, I'm fine, okay?"

Jane said, "Jesse, you know you have the shittiest poker face in the world, right?"

"No, I don't."

"She's right, kid, you do," Mike said. "Well, it's not my business, but let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah, okay, thanks," Jesse said.

Mike nodded once and went off to push his granddaughter on the swings.

"He seems nice," Jane said.

"Yeah," Jesse said.

Jesse kept taking things one day at a time. He had a gold 2-month chip. He made muffins. Finally, on day 71, the week before Jane needed to accept or decline admission to the Design and Arts College of New Zealand, they had the conversation Jesse had been dreading. Jane said, "I've been thinking about it a lot, Jesse, and I think… I wanna go to New Zealand."

"Yeah, of course," Jesse said. "It's like, your dream, yo. It's what we've been saving for."

"Well. We've been saving so that _we_ could go. So there are some conditions I want you to agree to, before I accept."

Jesse heard a buzzing in his ears. Like, of course Jane would break up with him. She'd probably hook up with some cute art school kid with an accent. "Jesse, are you listening?" she said.

"Uh… sorry, what?"

She said, "This is important, Jesse. If I go, I want you to promise you'll look into other ways of getting out of here. Here, I printed off some programs for you to look at. Like, it doesn't have to be art school. You could get a work visa. Or, um, volunteer on an organic farm. I'll help you apply before I go. So you'll be ready."

"Yeah, sure, cool," Jesse said, flipping through them.

"Second of all… you need to find a new sponsor. I don't want you to, you know."

"Fuck up?"

"Well, no," Jane said. "I was thinking maybe you could ask that Mike guy?"

Jesse bit his lip. "Yeah, I guess I could, yeah." Mike had been weirdly good to him for no reason, ever since they'd met. But it felt really personal to ask him to be his sponsor. Jesse felt kinda shy about it. But Mike had offered to help, right? He'd probably say yes.

"Great."

"Is that it?" Jesse asked.

"I guess so, yeah."

"I have conditions for you, too, then," Jesse said.

"Yeah?"

"Number one, no hooking up with any elves. I can't compete with that shit."

Jane grinned. "What about hobbits?"

"Mmm, hobbits are borderline. Okay. And number two, umm. Make good art. Like, the best art. Okay?"

Jane kissed him. "I'll see what I can do."

"Okay, well, cool. Let's put your stuff in the mail right now!"

Jane smiled at him, and Jesse felt like he must not be _that_ much of a fuck-up, if he could make her smile like that.

The next day--day 72--Jesse gathered his courage and stopped by Hermanos Cafecitos to tell Mike about Jane, and to ask him to be his sponsor.

Mike looked at him seriously, nodded, and said, "I'd be honored to."

Jesse blinked. "Honored?"

"Yes. It's a responsibility. I'll take it seriously."

"Oh. Um, thanks, yo."

"So what step are you on?" 

Jesse bit his lip. "I guess like eight. Or nine. Like, they're kind of connected, right?"

"Yeah. They are," Mike agreed. "Do you have your list?"

"Um, I haven't exactly written it down. It's more like, in my head."

"You should write it down. Bring it to our next meeting."

"Yeah, okay," Jesse said. He was a little surprised by how seriously Mike was taking this.

"Anything else you want to talk about?"

Jesse shrugged. Mike asked, "How's everything going at the food truck?"

"Fine, I guess. Business is good… actually, ha, I guess the guy who owns Hermanos Cafecitos wanted to buy us out?"

"Mmm," Mike said, nodding. "And you didn't want to sell?"

"I dunno. I guess not. But Mr. White, he… went kind of crazy about it. He definitely doesn't want to sell. He's talking about expanding, wants to get another truck."

"But you don't want to?"

"I dunno. I kinda just want to like, make muffins and coffee, you know? And, like, hang out. Mr. White, though… I mean I think he just wants the money. Not like I don't want the money, but, like… I don't know."

Mike nodded. "How did you two come to be partners, anyway?"

"Um." Jesse bit his lip. He kinda didn't want to tell Mike. It was kinda like, his rock bottom moment. But that was like, the whole point of NA, right? "He was my home ec teacher, in high school… uh, I went to, like, vocational school, so stuff like that was required? Like life skills and shit, since everybody knew we weren't really gonna need like calculus or whatever? So, like, he's really the one who taught me how to cook. But then I ended up, like, you know, rock bottom, or whatever. Like, meth-wise. It's kind of a long story I guess."

Mike said, "I got all day."

"Oh. Well, so, my parents kicked me out, so I was living with my aunt? But she died, and she said she left the house to me, so I was living there, and just, you know, having fun. But I guess she didn't, like, _officially_ leave me the house, so my parents kicked me out of there, too. So I was like, kind of homeless. Except I had the truck, because my friend Combo sold it to me for real cheap. Um, he's the one who, he died a few months ago?"

"I remember."

"Right, anyway, so, Mr. White found me, living in the truck, and he wanted to… he said he wanted to go into business with me. But I'd have to get clean first. So he, like, took me to rehab, and got the truck cleaned up. And got the permits and stuff. And um, then, we've just been, like, cooking together." He wondered if he should say the part about Mr. White's cancer. It wasn't exactly part of Jesse's story. But it maybe explained a few things. Or maybe it didn't, who knew?

"Interesting," Mike said. 

"Yeah. So, um, we've been doing that. Mr. White does most of the business-type arrangements. And I do a lot of the baking. And stuff. And we work together in the truck. But it's like, I don't know, Jane says he's taking advantage of me? Like making me work more weekends and stuff? But I know I owe him, so."

"Hmm. Why do you think you owe him?"

"Um, Mr. White saved my life? So there's that."

Mike shook his head. "You saved your own life, Jesse."

Jesse hated his dumb eyes for filling with tears at that. Mike half-smiled and patted his hand. "You wanna call it a day?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Call me if you need anything, Jesse. And work on step 8. And… this isn't a step, but I think you should spend some time thinking about what you really owe Walter White."

"Uh, yeah, okay, Mike."

"Good." 

"See you around, then."

Mike nodded, and Jesse left Hermanos Cafecitos feeling… okay. 

On day 79 he nervously showed Mike 2 lists. The first was his step 8 list, the list of people he'd harmed through his addiction:  
\- Combo  
\- Combo's mom  
\- Combo's other family  
\- my mom  
\- my dad  
\- Jake  
\- Aunt Jenny  
\- Jane  
\- Wendy  
\- Badger  
\- Skinny Pete  
\- People I sold crystal to  
\- ???

The second was his list of reasons why he owed Mr. White:  
\- Sent me to rehab  
\- Taught me how to cook  
\- Gave me a job

Mike looked at the two pieces of paper for a long time. Then he pulled out a pencil and wrote a few notes on the second paper and handed it back to Jesse.

Reasons why Walter White owes you:  
\- You cover his shifts  
\- You're a good cook  
\- You are likeable

Jesse looked at it and couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "You think so?"

Mike said, "It's my business to keep an eye on the competition. I call it like I see it. Walt might have a better head for business. But you've got a better head for _this_ business."

"He always acts like I'm just like, ruining everything."

Mike took back the paper and wrote:  
People who benefit from you thinking you owe Walter White anything:  
\- Walter White

Jesse frowned at it for a long moment. "Nah, look, you don't… you don't know him like I know him. He's… I mean… he's looking out for me."

Mike made a noncommittal noise and said, "It's just something to think about. Now. How are you doing on the 9th step?"

Day 112 was Thanksgiving, which Jesse and Jane spent with Jane's dad. It was less awkward than past holidays. Mr. Margolis was thrilled that Jane was going to New Zealand without Jesse, and his interactions with Jesse took on the tone of a benefactor who was generously allowing Jesse to spend time with Jane.

Jesse excused himself in the middle of the football game to go to NA. Holiday meetings were always a total fucking bummer that he tried to avoid, but he figured it was, like, the mature thing to do. That night, Jane told him she was proud of him, and he felt like maybe it was actually deserved.

Day 139 was Christmas Eve. Jesse knew his family didn't want to see him, but as part of step 9--atoning for the damage he'd done--he dropped off some pies on their doorstep, with a long letter. And a Best Buy gift card for Jake. He didn't really know what Jake might want anymore but he could get some dope video games or something with that. He sent a card to Combo's family, too. 

Day 140 was Christmas, again spent with Jane's dad. All her presents were to help her get ready for art school in New Zealand. Mr. Margolis gave Jesse a red necktie and a copy of a Rachael Ray cookbook. Jesse brought pies and said little. Jane made them both look at pictures of organic farms in New Zealand where Jesse was maybe going to volunteer through the WWOOF program. Jesse tried to imagine himself living there, away from his friends, away from Mr. White, away from everything except Jane and that green landscape, so different from New Mexico's.

Day 151, Jesse packed his car full of Jane's suitcases and took her to the airport.

"I'm so excited for you, baby," he said. "I can't wait to hear all about it."

"I can't wait for you to get your ass on a plane and come down there with me."

"Yeah, I know, me too. I just gotta get everything, you know, squared away with the food truck."

Jane bit her lip and said, "Yeah. Okay."

"Look… let's not fight about this. You're about to, like, time travel." Jesse reached in his messenger bag and pulled out a big envelope. "Hey. This is for you. I, um, I got the idea online. Like, since it's such a long flight, there's something for you to open every hour, 1-30. It's kinda cheesy, I guess, um."

Jane beamed. "Aww, Jesse, that's so sweet."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I drew--no, wait, I don't wanna ruin the surprise."

"How do you know I won't just open them all in the first hour?"

Jesse shrugged. "Because you're not me."

Jane laughed, then hugged him tightly and said, "I am going to miss you _so_ much."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So that's why you need to stop dicking around and get your own ticket to Christchurch, okay?"

"Yeah," Jesse said. He helped her with her giant-ass suitcase as far as he could. "Hey, call me when you land! Whatever time it is!" Jane had tried to explain the time zone change to him multiple times but it confused him too much. 

"Obviously," Jane said. "I love you!"

"I love you too, like, so much."

She blew him a kiss as she disappeared through the metal detector. Jesse made his way back to his car somehow, then sat in the driver's seat and sobbed. After he felt cried out, he drove back to his apartment and was surprised to see Mike's red station wagon parked in front. Jesse wiped his face with his sleeve and walked up to Mike's car, where the older man was sitting in the driver's seat and working on a crossword puzzle.

"Uh, hey, Mike," Jesse said. "Did we have a meeting I forgot about?"

Mike shook his head. "Just figured today might be rough. Thought I'd check in with you."

"Oh. Um. I'm okay."

Mike said, "Hmm."

Jesse reached in his pocket and felt the reassuring 5-month chip in his pocket. "Uh… you wanna come in?" he asked. Mike had occasionally come by Jesse's place to pick him up, for meetings and stuff, but he'd never been inside before.

"Sure." Jesse unlocked the door and let Mike into the duplex. "Um. This is the living room. There's like, a couch, and stuff. Uh… Jane painted that mural. Dope, right?" Mike didn't reply, so Jesse kept talking. "Um, that's our plasma screen TV, it's like, huge. Oh, do you want some coffee or something? I can make coffee. Or I think, uh, there's some apple cider?"

Mike said, "I'm not here for the tour, Jesse. I'm here for you."

Jesse fidgeted with his chip and said, "Or there's water? And, um, tea?"

"All right, Jesse, I'll take a coffee."

"Cool. The kitchen's through here, if you want to come. Or you can just sit here. There's, you know, chairs and stuff."

"I can see that," Mike said. He followed Jesse into the kitchen.

Jesse carefully filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove. Then took the coffee beans out of the fridge said, "I got these from the Coop, you know, La Montanita? They're fair trade and organic, so, yeah." Jesse ground the beans and put them in the French press, along with the hot water. He watched the water change color, stirred it once and covered it to let it steep, and nervously drummed on the counter while he waited. Then he slowly plunged the filter down and poured two mugs of coffee. He gave the nicer mug to Mike, who drank his coffee black. Jesse added some organic half-and-half to his. He took a sip and realized he didn't even really want coffee, he had just wanted to make it.

Mike sipped his and nodded. "It's good, Jesse."

"It's just, you know, good beans make good coffee," Jesse said, but he was still happy to hear Mike say it.

"That's true," Mike agreed. 

For a long moment, they both sipped their coffee in silence, until Jesse said, "I guess we could go sit down." Mike nodded and followed him to the living room. Mike sat on a chair and Jesse curled up in the corner of the couch.

After another long silence, Jesse said, "I guess I don't really feel like talking."

"Fine by me," Mike said. 

Jesse turned on the TV and flipped through the channels rapidly. "Aw, no way," he said. "Bob Ross! I didn't think they even showed this anymore!"

"PBS has reruns of it sometimes," Mike said. 

"This is so dope," Jesse said. "Me and Badger and Skinny Pete used to watch this all the time when we were, um, you know, using. Happy little trees, yo."

"Have you ever watched it sober?"

"Uh… I dunno, actually. Maybe when I was a kid." Jesse leaned forward, transfixed. His coffee grew cold on the table.

"I tried to watch this with Kaylee once. She thought it was boring," Mike said.

Jesse shook his head. "Kids these days, right?"

"Kids these days," Mike agreed. He sounded amused, but not like in a mean way. 

If anyone had ever tried to tell Jesse that a day would come when he would genuinely enjoy sitting around watching PBS, sober, with an old dude, he would not have believed it. But, well, it was pretty relaxing. So relaxing that when Jesse woke up, it was dark, and Mike had a hand on his shoulder and was saying, "Jesse, wake up. It's okay. It was just a dream."

"What?" Jesse asked. He sat up and looked around. He was on the couch with the quilt one of Jane's friends had made covering him. The only light in the room came from the TV, which was still on PBS, now showing a repeat of a Nova episode about volcanos. "Oh God, sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Mike said, "You looked tired."

Jesse rubbed his face and said, "Yeah, I guess… I haven't been sleeping that great. What time is it?" He checked his phone and saw that it was nearly 1am. He'd gotten back from the airport around 6. "You didn't have to… to stay so late," he said.

Mike shrugged. "I like PBS."

Jesse hugged his knees to his chest and watched the footage of lava flowing, slowly but surely, down a mountain. He realized he didn't know much about Mike's life, aside from his granddaughter's existence. Mike wasn't the most talkative guy in existence or anything. Jesse said, "Is… I mean, do you have to go home to somebody?"

"Nah."

"There was, though, right? Since you have a grandkid and all?"

Mike hesitated for a moment and said, "Yeah."

"Oh, sure, that's fine, you know all of my worst stuff but I don't even get to know about your wife, or whatever." 

Jesse felt bad as soon as he said it, but Mike laughed, a little, and said, "I was married. And we had a daughter. We… well, you could say I was never successful on step 9 with my wife."

"Oh. Sorry. That sucks."

"It was a long time ago," Mike said.

"How long… how long have you been sober?"

"Coming up on 30 years."

"Whoa. And you still go to meetings?" Jesse had known Mike was an old-timer, but 30 years… did they even make chips that high?

"I'm still a recovering alcoholic."

"Fuck," Jesse said. 

On PBS, the narrator was talking about how there was a huge supervolcano underneath Yellowstone National Park, and if it erupted it would kill, like, everyone. Fuuuck.

Mike was still standing next to Jesse. He reached out and gave Jesse's shoulder a quick squeeze. "You'll be okay, Jesse," he said. He sounded pretty sure of himself.

"Okay," Jesse echoed.

"Good night. Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah. Thanks," Jesse said. He stayed wrapped up on the couch while Mike left, pulling the door solidly shut behind him. Jesse didn't feel up to the task of going to bed, so he set his alarm for 4:30 and watched PBS on the couch until he wasn't awake anymore.

On Jesse's 155th day of sobriety, he stopped by Hermanos Cafecitos after leaving Heisenbrew's. He didn't see Mike out front, so he stepped inside. It was kind of dead inside, even though there'd been a line of customers at the food truck when he'd left. Jesse felt a quick surge of pride at that. He didn't see Mike, but he did recognize the guy Gale who was at the counter, and he nodded at him.

Gale gave him what Jesse thought was a disproportionately happy smile and said, "Hey Jesse, are you looking for Mike?"

"Uh, yeah, but it's no big deal or anything, I was just passing by."

"Mike went out to get more sugar from one of the other Hermanos locations. Our orders got mixed up this week. He should be back before too long if you want to wait."

"Um… sure," Jesse said, shrugging. He didn't have much else to do. He studied the baked goods in the display counter and smugly recognized them all as being frozen, mass-produced garbage.

"Hey, you guys should come out to Sidewinders tonight," Gale said. "It's karaoke night."

"Um, no thanks," Jesse said. "I'm not much for karaoke." He said nothing about Mike being in recovery--if Gale didn't already know, then it wasn't Jesse's place to say. Then he blinked. "Wait, isn't Sidewinders the gay bar?"

Gale blinked. "Well, it certainly markets itself to a certain clientele."

"Do... you think me and Mike are dating?" Jesse asked.

Gale looked panicked and said, "I suppose I assumed that. Not that it's any of my business, of course."

"He's like, old enough to be my _dad_."

Gale shrugged. "There are all sorts of relationships in this world. I don't see it as my place to judge what makes two consenting adults happy."

"Uh… that's cool and all. But… I have a girlfriend. And I'm not dating Mike. And I don't want to go to gay karaoke. But, thanks for asking?"

"Oh. Well, you're welcome. I'm an admirer of your work, you know."

"My work?"

"Yes, at Heisenbrew's. I'm something of a connoisseur of coffee, you see. You have a good product over there. And your vegan gingerbread was _inspired_."

"Oh, yeah? Thanks."

"May I ask--did I detect a hint of maple syrup in the flavor palette?"

"Uh, yeah, actually. Just like, a few tablespoons."

"I thought so!" Gale said. He sounded genuinely delighted.

"I've never seen you at the truck," Jesse said. 

Gale nodded. "The owner of Hermanos Cafecitos doesn't think it behooves employees to make a habit of visiting our competitors frequently, but sometimes I stop by in the afternoons. Also, sometimes Mike is kind enough to bring me vegan baked goods, since I can't actually eat anything we sell here."

"Oh," Jesse said. Mike had never said anything to him about not being allowed to visit the truck. But then, Mike was probably in a professional position where he didn't care. Suddenly, he wondered about the offer to buy out Heisenbrew's. He'd never heard anything more about it--he assumed that guy Gus had talked to Walter and that had been the end of it. 

Jesse wracked his brain, trying to think of some kind of small talk to share with this Gale guy, when Mike came in from the back with a box of sugar packets. He set it on the counter and said, "Everything okay, Jesse?"

Jesse shrugged. "Yeah, just stopped by on my way back from work, thought I'd say hey. Chillin' with Gale."

Mike's mouth quirked in a faint smile and he methodically opened the box of sugar. "Jesse. You want to get lunch?"

"Sure," Jesse said.

Mike nodded. "Let me just finish up here." 

Jesse waited while Mike worked. Gale flicked his eyes between Jesse and Mike with a look that was difficult to read. Mike put the sugar box away and came back out around the counter. "Okay, Gale, I'm out," Mike said. "Victor should be in any minute now."

"Bye, Mike. Jesse, it was lovely chatting with you."

"Uh, yeah, later."

Mike drove to a Denny's. After they ordered, Jesse said, "Oh, so, Gale thinks we're dating."

"Gale thinks a lot of things."

"He invited us to karaoke at Sidewinders. The gay bar."

Mike laughed at that, a real throaty laugh. Jesse said, "I let him down easy. Does he not know, you know, about you?"

"My personal life is personal."

"Yeah. Makes sense. I just, you know. Wondered."

"How's work?" 

Jesse said, "Okay. I mean, business is good. Like really good. Mr. White let me try out some new recipes and they're all really popular, so, there's that."

"Hmm."

"What about, uh, you guys? Hermanos Cafecitos?"

Mike shrugged. "Overall, fine. My store has taken a hit in profit since some upstart food truck started parking nearby, but…"

Jesse fidgeted with his cup of coffee and said, "How does that work, exactly? Business-wise? I mean with like, the chain and all?"

Mike looked at him for a long moment and said, "Jesse, are you worried you're going to put my store out of business?"

"Uh… I mean, I was just wondering, I don't…"

"Don't worry about us, Jesse."

"Okay," Jesse said, but it wasn't like he could just tell his brain to just _stop_ worrying, that's like, not how brains work.

The waitress came by and dropped off Mike's Western omelet and Jesse's pancakes, eggs, and bacon. "Can I get anything else for you two?" she asked.

"Nah, thanks," Jesse said. 

"How about you, sugar?"

"I'm fine," Mike said with a nod. Jesse took a moment to process Mike being called "sugar," but said nothing.

Jesse ate his meal. If he was kinda skinny, it wasn't because he didn't eat food when it was put in front of him. It was just that he sometimes forgot about it if it wasn't in his field of vision.

In between bites he said, "I Skyped with Jane last night. She said Christchurch is really nice. And, like, it's summer there now?"

"Sure," Mike said. "Southern hemisphere."

"Yeah. Weird, though, right?"

Mike shrugged. Jesse said, "Have you ever been there?"

"The Southern hemisphere?"

"Yeah?"

Mike thought about it and said, "Not to New Zealand. But to South America. Sure."

"What's it like?"

"Well. It depends where you go."

"What was it like where you went?"

"I spent time in Santiago. In Chile. It's surrounded by mountains, but it's in a valley, so the elevation is lower than here." Mike took a bite of omelet and thought. "It felt kind of European, I suppose."

"I've never been to Europe, either," Jesse said. "I've never been anywhere." He suspected he sounded whinier than usual, and he bit his lip.

Mike paused before saying, "You're still young."

"I guess."

"And you're going to New Zealand, right?" Mike prompted.

"I guess. Yeah."

"Well. You'll have to tell me all about it."

"Yeah."

The waitress dropped the check off and wished them both a fantastic day.

Mike glanced at the check and dropped a couple bills on the table. Jesse reached for his wallet and Mike shook his head. "I got this, kid."

"Oh. Thanks, Mike."

"You can get it next time."

Jesse gave a half-smile. "Yeah, okay." 

Two weeks later, on day 169, Jesse had a bad night. Well, he'd had a couple of bad nights. A bad week. Jane kept being offline whenever he signed onto Skype, and then he started thinking about how she'd already found someone better to be with, and then he slept worse, and then he remembered the nightmares more… it was a whole give a mouse a cookie kinda situation, except shitty. He'd eventually grown so exhausted that he somehow fell asleep at the coop kitchen and burned a whole bunch of muffins and the oven caught on fire and the fire department came and Mr. White was so, so pissed. 

"You think I don't know what you're doing?" Mr. White hissed. They were standing out in the parking lot of the coop kitchen. "You think I don't know you're cozying up with Hermanos Cafecitos?"

"Wait, what?" Jesse asked. "You--what?"

"I _know_ , Jesse, I _know_ you've been hanging out at Hermanos Cafecitos just about every day. It's three blocks from where we put our truck, did you think I wouldn't hear about it?"

"From who? What? It's not like, local news. Are you spying on me?"

Mr. White continued, "But I have to admit, I didn't think you'd go so low as to actually sabotage our business, but I guess that's what I get for trusting you with anything, even something as inconsequential as baking muffins."

"Jesus Christ," Jesse muttered. "I really, really do not need this right now. Or ever. Look, I'm sorry I fucked up the muffins, but it was a _mistake_. I just… it was an accident. I'll make more."

"No, no, I'll do it, it's not like I have a family to go spend time with."

"Why are you _like_ this?" Jesse asked, and he hated how raw his voice sounded. He took a deep, ragged breath. "I'm sorry. I just--I haven't been sleeping well. I fell asleep. Okay? And the muffins burned. And the stove. I--I'll pay for it. Just, please…" he trailed off.

Then Mr. White looked at him. "Jesse? Are you using again?"

"No! God. I just haven't been sleeping. What do you care?" He hugged his arms to his chest and looked at the ground. 

"Jesse… of course I care. I want what's best for you. For us. For the business."

"Is that all the same thing?" Jesse asked.

"Yes, of course. Remember, Jesse? I helped you get clean. I helped you turn that truck of yours into something… useful. I taught you how to cook. Now you have a job, a life. Except you want to throw it away for a quick buck from Hermanos Cafecitos."

Mr. White had stopped yelling, but he was back to disappointed teacher voice.

"God, no I don't," Jesse moaned. "I swear to God, I didn't even look at that offer when that guy dropped it off. I don't care. I like the truck. I like baking. I just… I'm just not doing great. Okay? And it has nothing to do with Heisenbrew's. There's other stuff in my life. You know?"

"So then just tell me… why are you spending so much time at Hermanos Cafecitos? I just want to know, Jesse. I just want to understand."

"It's none of your business," Jesse said. "It's personal." It's not like he thought Mike would _care_ if Walt knew he was his sponsor, or that Mike was in recovery, or whatever. That was like, the whole point of being Mike, that you didn't have to care what people like Mr. White said about you. But it was supposed to be anonymous, and anyway, he was sick of Mr. White getting his way all the time. He tried to make his face look tough. 

"Okay," Mr. White said. "Okay." He reached out a hand to squeeze Jesse's shoulder. Jesse flinched, and a flicker of offense passed over Mr. White's face. "Jesse… if I'm hard on you, it's because I want you to reach your potential. Do you understand?"

"We're supposed to be partners, right? I'm not your student anymore?"

After a too-long pause, Mr. White nodded. Jesse sighed and said, "Okay, whatever. You bake. I'm going home."

Mr. White nodded. "Get some sleep, son."

Jesse walked off to his car without another word. He got home, he took a sleeping pill, and slept like a zombie right up until his alarm went off. He still kinda felt like a zombie after his alarm went off, but that was what coffee was for, right? It was like, the whole point of their business.

Just as he was on his way out the door, his phone rang. He assumed it would be Mr. White, but it was Mike. "Hey, kid, you okay?"

"Yeah, on my way to work. What… what's up?"

"I heard about the fire at the coop kitchen. Wanted to check in with you?"

Jesse felt his face grow hot. "Uh. Yeah. It was my fault. I like, zonked out while I was baking, and, uh. Stuff caught on fire. But nobody got hurt. Except the oven."

"You zonked?" he can hear the eyebrow raise over the phone.

"I just fell asleep. I, uh, haven't been sleeping too great. But… it's fine. Everything's fine."

"You know I mean it when I say you can call if you need anything, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I just came home and took a sleeping pill last night, I was just, like, out."

"Okay," Mike said. 

"Sorry," Jesse said, reflexively. "Uh. See you around."

"Bye, Jesse. Take care," Mike said, and the line went dead.

When Jess got to Mr. White's garage, Mr. White was standing in the garage waiting for him. Jesse nodded. "Morning," he mumbled.

"Jesse, how are you feeling?" Mr. White asked. He sounded kind of like he cared.

"Okay," Jesse said, nodding.

"Well, the truck is freshly loaded with muffins and bread," Mr. White said.

"Yeah. Thanks," Jesse said. He took out his set of keys. "See you."

Mr. White watched him go, and Jesse had trouble reading the expression in his face. Whatever.

Business at the truck went well. Jesse felt friendlier, more present than he had the last few days. Jesse thought that was part of step 10. Or maybe 11. He still hadn't figured out what his higher power was, honestly, which was a problem. But maybe it didn't really matter, as long as he had reasons not to use. Which he did. He had a literal list, actually, which Mike had asked him to make. It was:  
\- Jane  
\- Badger & Skinny Pete  
\- other friends  
\- Mr. White  
\- Mike  
\- Jake  
\- Food truck customers (nice ones)  
\- Pizza  
\- Breakfast foods  
\- Video Games  
\- other countries I haven't been to yet

He kept it in his wallet and sometimes he looked at it. Occasionally he thought about adding to it, but it seemed sufficient for the time being.

That night, he signed onto Skype and immediately heard the burbling sound of Jane calling him.

"Hey baby," he said happily. Just seeing her face made him feel more relaxed, even if it was nowhere near as good as seeing her in real life.

"Jesse! Finally! You are never online."

"No, _you're_ never online! And you live in the future!" Jesse still couldn't get over the time zone difference. It was the next _day_ in New Zealand.

"Okay, whatever. Look, I have something I need to tell you," she said.

"Oh," Jesse said, and he instantly assumed the worst.

"What, no, Jesse, hang on. It's just… it's about your application to come here."

"Uh. About how I didn't get in?"

"Yeah. Jesse… look, I kinda made friends with a girl who works at the registrar's office here, and I just… I couldn't believe you didn't get in, because I knew how good your application was, and Jesse… you never told me Mr. White was one of your references."

"Yeah? He said he'd be happy to."

"Jesse…" Jane paused. "Did you read it, before he sent it?"

"No, it was like, sealed envelope, and all. Where are you going with this?"

"Jesse… I read the letter he wrote you, and he… he said terrible things about you." She bit her lip and waved a piece of paper at the screen.

"What?"

She nodded. "That's why you didn't get in. He said you were an unreliable drug addict, who needed constant supervision to get anything done, and… just… I don't even want to read the rest. It makes me so pissed."

Jesse shook his head. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Jesse! You're still working with him! He sabotaged you. My friend at the office said you totally would have gotten in if it weren't for that."

Jesse bit his lip. "Really?"

"Jesse. I love you. Mr. White is… is _toxic_. Please, please just sell your share in the food truck and come to New Zealand. Or just leave. You've already got all your paperwork ready. You'll love it here. Please."

Jesse buried his face in his hand. "Okay. Okay. Um."

Jane said, "Jesse, talk to me."

"I mean. Does it even matter? I didn't get in. No point dwelling."

"Jesse, just get a plane ticket. Just come. I miss you."

"I need… to think about it. I think. I think I should talk to Mike?"

"Yeah… Okay. Sure. Yeah. Good. Jesse. Are you gonna… do that now? Or?" Jane sounded more anxious than usual. Usually she was calm, and Jesse was the one with nervous energy to spare. Now he felt very still. 

"Yeah," Jesse said. "If that's cool. Yeah."

"Of course, Jesse. I love you. Take it one day at a time, right?"

"Yeah. Which is technically not fair, because, you're a day in the future, right? You're taking it two days at a time."

"That's another reason you should come here, then," Jane said, smiling again. 

"Love you," Jesse said, blowing a kiss at the screen. Jane caught it and tucked it in her pocket. Jesse reached out to turn off the camera, and the last thing he saw was her looking troubled.

Jesse fidgeted with his phone for a moment. Despite having repeated assurances that he could, he rarely called Mike. But he needed to talk to someone about it, someone objective, so he found Mike's name and hit call.

Mike answered after one ring. "Hello?"

Jesse hesitated for a moment, and Mike said, "Jesse? Are you okay, kid?"

"Uh, yeah. I. Uh. I dunno."

Jesse's answer hung in the air for a moment, and Mike said, "Where are you? Are you at home?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Just hold tight. I'm coming over."

"You don't have to--"

"Jesse. Just don't do anything stupid, okay? Think about your list. Think about Jane," Mike said, and the line went dead.

But that was the problem, right? Was he supposed to believe Jane? She'd never liked Mr. White. But she didn't know him like Jesse knew him. But she wouldn't have made up a story like that, right? But she didn't even read the whole letter. Maybe because there was no letter. It wasn't like he could tell over Skype. 

He remembered telling Mr. White about Jane, and New Zealand. Mr. White had seem completely unsurprised that Jesse hadn't gotten in. But Jesse had just assumed it was because he was such a fuck-up. But…

Jesse paced around his living room for a few moments before grabbing his keys and driving off in search of answers.

He parked in his usual spot and knocked on the door of the White house. Mrs. White answered. "Jesse? Are you okay?"

"Uh… yeah, no, fine, I just… I just need to talk to Mr. White."

"We're eating dinner," she said. "Can this wait?"

"Just like 2 minutes," Jesse said. " _Please_."

She opened her mouth to say something, but then she looked at him and nodded. She went back inside and Mr. White came to the door.

"Jesse? Is everything all right?"

"Hey. Mr. White. I just… I was just wondering. You sent off my letter of recommendation for New Zealand? The, uh, Design and Arts College?"

"Of course, Jesse. Didn't you already hear back from them?"

"Yeah. So, uh, I was just wondering, what you said? In the letter?'

"Jesse… that was months ago. I don't remember specifics. Why are you asking about this now, of all times?"

"Oh, you don't remember specifics. Do you remember, maybe, writing that I was an unreliable drug addict who needed constant one-on-one supervision to get anything done?"

Mr. White paused. "Jesse, why would you ask me that?"

"Just tell me, yes or no, did you write that?"

"Jesse…" 

"God dammit, Mr. White. I _trusted_ you!" 

Mr. White stepped out onto the porch and shut the front door. "Jesse, I'm ethically required to be honest in those letters of recommendation. It wouldn't do you any good if I provided false information."

Jesse felt his hands clench into fists. "You… why… why wouldn't you just say… you didn't want to write me a letter? Why?"

Jesse's phone rang, and he reached in his pocket to silence it. It kept buzzing in his pocket as Mr. White said, "Jesse, I was concerned for you. You're still in recovery. I didn't think going halfway around the world with another junkie was the best thing for you."

" _Jane is not a junkie_ ," Jesse hissed.

"Mm-hmm," Mr. White said.

"She's not. She's like three years sober."

"Oh, so she's the expert? Look, Jesse, maybe next year you'll be in a better position, and I will happily help you reapply…"

Blood was pounding in Jesse's ears, and his phone was still vibrating insistently, which was starting to get super annoying. He finally looked down to see who was calling him so much and saw that it was Mike. Fuck. He answered it, keeping his eyes on Mr. White. "Hey," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Jesse, where are you?" Mike asked. He sounded very weary.

"Uh, there was something I had to do."

"Think about this very carefully before you answer. Are you doing something stupid?"

"Uh…" Jesse said.

Mike sighed. "Where are you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm worried about _you_ , kid."

"Yeah, well… I'm taking care of something."

"Jesse, you know nothing you have said so far has reassured me that you're not doing something stupid?"

"Yeah, well, that's me, I'm just a worthless junkie, right?" Jesse said, and he hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" Mr. White asked.

"A friend."

"Well. You're not worthless, Jesse," Mr. White said.

"Right. I'm good enough to make muffins but not good enough to have a say in the business? That we're supposedly _partners_ of?"

"Jesse, I had no idea you felt so strongly about this, honestly."

"You… this is unbelievable. Just unfuckingbelievable."

For a long while, Jesse paced around the lawn, fidgeting with his chip, while Mr. White watched him warily. Then his eyes focused on something behind Jesse. Jesse turned and saw Mike's car parking on the street. Mike stepped out and walked up to Mr. White's driveway.

"Mike?" Jesse asked.

"You invited this man to my _home_?" Mr. White asked.

"No, I…"

"I made an educated guess as to where Jesse's whereabouts might be, based on his level of agitation," Mike said mildly.

"You know where Mr. White lives?"

"He's in the phone book," Mike said.

"What is going _on_ here?" Mr. White asked.

"I would like to know that myself," Mike said.

Jesse sighed. "Look, Jane called and she said she made friends with somebody at the registrar's office at the Design and Arts College, and uh, according to them, the only reason I didn't get in, is because Mr. White wrote me a letter of recommendation that said I was an unreliable junkie. And I, uh, I just wanted to…" Jesse crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. Mike's eyes flicked between him and Mr. White.

Mr. White said, "I wrote an honest reflection on Jesse's strengths and weaknesses. I did _not_ use the word 'junkie.'"

"Yeah, sorry, no, you said 'addict,' right? 'Junkie' would be too far."

Mike shook his head. "Jesse, why don't we just get off this asshole's lawn and go someplace to talk about this?"

"Excuse me," Mr. White said. "I will not be spoken to like that."

"I wasn't talking to you," Mike said. "I was talking to Jesse."

Mr. White, who now looked about as angry as Jesse had ever seen him, said, "I won't have you turning my partner against me. I'll burn our truck to the ground before sell any part of it to Hermanos Cafecitos."

"Oh my God, this is so not about that," Jesse said. "It's about me trying to go to _art school_. God."

"Yeah? The reason the manager of our competitor is so buddy-buddy with you is because of your _art_?" Mr. White sneered.

Mike said, "That's _enough_ , Walter." Jesse raised his eyebrows. Mike sounded straight up scary.

"Mike's never talked to me about selling the business," Jesse said.

"Then why? Why are you two spending so much time together? It makes no sense otherwise. Unless… is there something _sexual_ going on between you two?"

Jesse stared at Mr. White, wondering why people kept thinking that. Was it really that hard to believe that someone would want to spend time with Jesse just, like, because? Though that wasn't even really why Mike spent time with him, either--Mike spent time with Jesse to keep him from fucking up. Still. No sex. Definitely.

Mike said, in his calm, gravelly way, "I feel genuine pity for you and your worldview, Walter. But I don't need to justify the people I choose to spend my time with to you." 

Mrs. White opened the front door and stuck her head out. "Uh… is everything okay? Walt?"

"Fine," Mr. White said.

"I was just leaving," Mike said. "And I believe Jesse was too."

Jesse looked between the two men. Mr. White said, urgently, "Jesse, I just want what's best for you."

Mike shook his head slightly, and started walking toward his car.

Jesse said, "Uh… I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Mrs. White."

Mr. White called, "Jesse. Jesse!" But Jesse shook his head and went back to his car.

He saw Mike sitting in his car. Mike gave him a faint smile and nod.

Mike followed Jesse back to his place. Jesse let him, flopped on the couch, and said, "Um. Thanks, Mike."

"I'm proud of you, Jesse."

"Uh. Really?"

"You stood up for yourself. You took an emotional hit and didn't start using."

"Yeah, but also, I went over to Mr. White's house and yelled at him on his lawn?"

Mike smiled. "Yeah."

Jesse put his head in his hands and said, "What am I supposed to do?"

"What do you want to do?" Mike asked, and he asked it like it was a real question, not like he was just trying to get Jesse to agree with him.

Jesse sat up and hugged his knees into his chest. "I don't know."

Mike said, "You've got options, kid."

"Yeah."

"I guess the first thing you need to decide is, what are you going to do tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I mean, knowing what you know now, are you going to go into work at the food truck?"

"I mean, I kinda have to."

"Do you? What happens if you don't?"

"I guess either Mr. White would open it. Or we wouldn't open."

Mike said nothing. Eventually, Jesse said, "It's just, like, we worked pretty hard to get everything going. It feels kinda… I don't know. I don't know if I want to give up on it."

"What were you going to do about it if you got accepted to the school in New Zealand?"

Jesse shrugged. "I'd talked to Mr. White about it when I applied, and we said we'd hire someone to fill in, while I was gone. We agreed it was about time to hire someone else anyway."

Mike just looked at him, and eventually Jesse offered into the void, "I guess I just don't know what else I can do. I mean, I like art, but I don't think I'm good enough at it to do it, like, for a job. Not like Jane. And, I'm good at baking, and stuff, but… I mean, I don't think I could get another business going. Not like Heisenbrew's."

Finally, Mike said, "Did you ever read the offer from Gus Fring?"

"I kinda skimmed it," Jesse said. "But it doesn't matter, Mr. White will never sell. I don't think I really want to, either."

Mike said, "I understand that. But did you see that the contract offered you a position as 'chief artisanal baker' for the chain?"

"No. What the fuck's that mean?"

"You'd have control over the baked goods menu for the chain. You'd come up with recipes and you'd have a staff to help mass produce them."

"Really?"

Mike nodded, and Jesse said, "Why didn't you say anything about that before?"

"You seemed pretty clear about rejecting the deal. I just assumed you'd read it all. My point now is just to remind you that you do have options."

Jesse said, "Hey. This whole thing hasn't been like, a trick to get me to come work for you, right?"

Mike snorted and said, "Actually, I agree to be your NA sponsor in the hopes that you'd sleep with me."

"What?" He sounded like he was kidding. He had to be kidding, right?

"Jesse. Relax. I'm kidding. Not everyone in your life is as manipulative as Walter White. When Gus asked if I thought he should offer you a job, I said yes, because I think you're good at your job and I thought you might want a change. When you asked me to be your sponsor, I agreed because you needed a sponsor, and you seemed like a good kid. That's all. No ulterior motive."

"Oh. Yeah. That makes sense. Uh. Sorry."

"It's all right, Jesse. Just give me a little credit, please."

"Yeah. Totally." Jesse sighed and slunk deeper into the couch. "Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"What would you do, if you were me?"

Mike said, "Well. I'm not you."

"I know. But, like… if you were."

"If I were in your position, Jesse, I'd get the hell out of dodge. I know you've been saving. Go to New Zealand. Go to Europe. Go somewhere. Maybe New Zealand, since there's a very nice girl who cares about you there. You're young enough to start over."

"You think I should start over?"

"I'm just saying that if you want to, you can."

Jesse thought about it. "What if, like, I go to New Zealand and I can't cut it?"

"How do you mean?"

"Like, I dunno, if it's too hard."

"Then you can come back to Albuquerque and try again here, with a new perspective. But I don't think that will be the case, Jesse. You're a bright young man."

"Yeah, yeah, when I apply myself."

"Sounds like maybe you've heard that before."

"Yeah. Once or twice." Jesse was anxiously flipping his sobriety chip around between his hands.

Mike said, "Do you feel like using right now?"

Jesse thought about it. "Not really. I mean… it… it would only delay the inevitable, right?"

"That's all it's ever done," Mike said. "That doesn't mean it's not appealing."

"Right. Well. I don't know. I think I just want to jump forward in time. Like how it's already tomorrow in New Zealand. I want it to be tomorrow here. I want to have already decided, and like, dealt with it."

"There's no shortcut for that, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Jesse said glumly. "I guess I'd better call Saul."

The next evening, after a terse day at the food truck, Walt showed up at Jesse's apartment with a pizza and dipping sticks. "Jesse, I'm sorry," he said. "I truly wanted what was best for you, and I didn't know New Zealand was so important to you. I'll help you reapply next year."  
Jesse shook his head. "Mr. White, I appreciate everything you've done for me, but… I'm done. Okay? I'm done."

"We're done when I say we're done," Mr. White said.

"Umm, that's not how it works. This is _America_ , yo," Jesse said. "Saul's working out the details. I'm _done_."

"I… I brought pizza. I thought we could eat dinner and talk this over, man to man."

"I already ate," Jesse said. "Bye, Mr. White."

"I got dipping sticks," Mr. White said. Jesse shook his head and pulled the door closed and sat down on the couch. He felt exhausted, like he'd just run a marathon. But also kind of badass. Then he put his laptop on his chest and signed into Skype. Jane was online, and he told her what had just gone down. 

"God, I so wish I'd been there for that," she said. "So, what's next? Are you gonna get your Lord of the Rings costume together and get down here, or what?"

Jesse grinned. "Yeah. I just need to finish up a few things here, and then I'll probably fly out next week. I emailed a couple farms last night, too, from the WWOOF directory. I think that'll be good. You know, back to nature, and all."

"That sounds great, Jesse."

"It's so beautiful here, I can't wait for you to see it."

"I can't wait to see _you_ ," Jesse said. Yeah. Smooth.

Jane laughed and said, "So smooth," aloud. Like, kind of sarcastically, but kind of not.

"So, whatever, I'll let you know when I get my flight figured out. Is there anything you want me to bring? Like, that you can't get in New Zealand, or whatever?"

Jane thought about it. "It's really hard to find cute guys to bake me muffins. Can you bring one of those?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll put one in my carry-on."

"Fantastic," Jane said, and she smiled her big awesome smile at him. "Oh, hey, I'd better get going, I have class soon. But I'm so excited to see you. Love you!"

"Love you too," Jesse said. Then he clicked back to the New Zealand WWOOF page and started making a packing list. The first thing he wrote was "suitcase."

He'd added a few more items to it when he heard a knock at his door. He answered it and saw Mike, looking amused.

"You know there's a pizza on your roof?" 

Jesse stepped out onto the porch and saw it there. "Wow. That's maybe the best thing Mr. White ever did for me." He took out his phone and tweeted a picture of it, #roofpizza.

Mike said, "Walter did that?"

"He must have. He came by earlier and tried to bribe me with pizza, but I said no and he left. I guess… that's what he did with it."

"Do you have a ladder?" Mike asked. Jesse made a face, and Mike said, "Never mind."

"I mean, what the fuck am I gonna do with a ladder? Who just has a ladder?"

"I'll bring one by later." 

"Oh. Thanks," Jesse said.

"So, Walter came to see you?"

Jesse shrugged. "Same stuff. Just wants what's best for me, blah blah blah. The pizza was new, though." He looked up at the roof pizza, still feeling faintly regretful.

"Well. I just stopped by to see how you're doing."

"Doin' good, yeah, thanks. I just Skyped with Jane and told her I was coming down to New Zealand soon, she was, like, super happy. And then I've just been working on my packing list."

Mike said, "Hmm. How's that going?"

"I don't know. Fine, I guess? I think I need to get some stuff before I leave. But it shouldn't be a big deal."

"Do you want help with anything?"

Jesse shrugged. "Nah, should be fine. Oh, uh, did you wanna come in? Sorry, I was kinda, like, distracted. By the roof pizza."

"That's understandable. But, no thank you. I'm on my way to babysit for Kaylee. Like I said, I just wanted to stop by. And I'll bring you a ladder tomorrow. All right?"

"Yeah, totally. Thanks."

"Any time." 

Impulsively, Jesse hugged Mike. "Seriously, thanks for everything, Mike."

Mike smiled. "You're welcome. Take care, kid." He left, casting a final backward glance at Jesse's roof pizza and shaking his head.

The next day, Jesse had the most awkward meeting of his life at Saul Goodman's office. Walt had brought in some other lawyer and threatened to go to court but somehow Saul had worked his magic and gotten pretty much everything Jesse had wanted. Mr. White was now the owner of Heisenbrew's Uncertainty, the name, the logo, the Twitter account, everything. And of his stupid Blue Sky blueberry muffin recipe. Like, whatever, Jesse's ginger-cinnamon muffins were better anyway. The thing Mr. White had been most smug about was making Jesse sign a thing promising not to work for any competitors for one year. But Saul had made sure it only applied in North America, and Jesse was definitely leaving, so what did it matter to him? Mr. White was so sure Jesse didn't have the guts to leave, that he was just going to end up sticking around the ABQ working at Hermanos Cafecitos. Well, Mr. White didn't know everything. 

Afterward, Jesse bought one way flight to Christchurch, and Mike came over with a ladder. Jesse climbed up on his roof and threw the pizza down. It was gross. "It's pretty cool up here, though. I've never been up on the roof."

"You sure know how to have fun," Mike said.

"Look, not all of us are lucky enough to own ladders, okay? Like, check your privilege, yo."

Mike laughed. "So, when's your flight?"

"It leaves Tuesday, at 5:55. From ABQ. But then, it's crazy, it goes through LA, and then Australia, and then New Zealand. But the _really_ crazy thing is, I don't get to New Zealand until _Thursday night_."

"That's a long flight."

"Yeah, I'm packing my sketchpad, and a bunch of magazines, and my DS, and stuff. Plus, Jane said there's like, little consoles where you can pick your own in-flight movies. And you can look out the window and see the ocean. It'll be dope."

Mike hesitated. "I hate to ask, but you _do_ have a passport, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, and a visa. Jane helped me get it all together. I never had one before. It's like, all official and shit. It's called a 'working holiday' visa, which sounds hilarious, right? Working holiday."

Mike smiled. "I'm happy for you, kid."

"Thanks, Mike. Hey, you wanna get some Denny's? On me. For the ladder, and all."

"Sure."

On Jesse's 174th day of sobriety, Jesse had Badger and Skinny Pete and everyone over, and they helped him pack up all his shit and put it into storage, and then he bought them all pizza to thank them and say goodbye and whatever. Then they surprised him with a gift. Badger cleared his throat and said, "Hey, Jesse, we didn't know what to get you, since, like, you're leaving all your stuff? But we thought maybe you could use this, for the flight, and everything?"

Jesse opened the bag and found a cool squishy neck pillow. "This is the bomb! Thanks, you guys!"

"We're gonna miss you, Jesse," Skinny Pete said.

"Yeah, me too. But you guys should come visit. We'll do like, the Lord of the Rings tour and everything."

"Yeah, totally," Badger said, his eyes lit up.

That night, Jesse slept on the floor of his apartment, using his new neck pillow as a pillow and his coat as a blanket. It wasn't the best night of sleep he'd ever gotten, but he'd read that it was good to be tired for the flight, so you'd sleep better.

The next day, Jesse dropped his keys off with Jane's dad, who was somewhat less than thrilled about the idea that Jesse was actually following through and going to New Zealand. Whatever. 

"Jesse, I hate to ask, but you do have a passport, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm not a total idiot." The thing was, when Mr. Margolis said it, Jesse knew that what he meant was, he hoped that Jesse was too dumb to leave the country.

"Of course not. Well, be sure to give my best to Jane," Mr. Margolis said.

"Oh, yeah, I will, Mr. Margolis," Jesse said. Suck it, Mr. Margolis, Jesse thought. 

"Have a safe flight."

"Thanks, you too. Uh, I mean, a good day, have a good day," Jesse said. Dammit. But it didn't matter. All he had left to do was drive to Mike's place--Mike had offered to keep Jesse's car in his garage while he was gone, and drive him to the airport, which was totally dope of him.

Jesse had never actually been to Mike's place before, and he was a little surprised to see that Mike had a little chicken house in his yard.

"You never told me you had chickens!" Jesse said. "Can I pet one?"

"Uh, sure, kid," Mike said. "Be careful, though, they can bite."

Jesse laughed and cautiously stroked one. "It's soft."

"Yeah. She has feathers."

"Some of the farms I'm looking to volunteer on have chickens."

"This isn't exactly a farm. City ordinance says you can have up to 15. I just have a couple, for the eggs."

"Still, it's totally awesome," Jesse said, and Mike gave him a kind of exasperated but affectionate look. Jesse was pretty sure that's what the look was.

"OK, kid, well, you'd better stop bonding with the chickens. You've got a flight to catch."

"Yeah, oh my God." 

"Let's get your stuff. Is this all you're bringing?"

"Yeah, we're supposed to travel light. Anyway, I can get new stuff down there, if I need it."

"I suppose you can."

Jesse nervously drummed his fingers on the door the whole way to the airport. Mike stopped in front of the United gate. He reached in his pocket and gave Jesse a pack of gum. "Here. Chew this at takeoff and landing. For your ears."

"Oh. Thanks," Jesse said, feeling tears spring to his eyes. "God, thanks for everything, Mike, I mean seriously."

"You're welcome, Jesse. Let me know when you've landed, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." 

Mike nodded, once. He took Jesse's suitcase out of the trunk and put it on the sidewalk. Then he hugged Jesse and said, "I'm proud of you, Jesse. And if you need anything, let me know."

"Yeah. Thanks. You've already… you've done so much for me, I don't know how to thank you."

A security guard approached them and cleared his throat, but Mike gave the guy a seriously scary glare and he backed off. 

"Go on, kid, catch your flight. Take care of yourself," Mike said. 

"See you around, Mike," Jesse said, shouldering his backpack and heading into the airport. 

On day 1 of Jesse's new life, Jane picked up up at the airport. She kissed him and took him to her apartment, where they had totally awesome reunion sex. It was even better than the totally awesome cigarette he had after 30 hours in flight. Exhausted from everything that had happened over the last 2 days, Jesse almost passed out immediately afterward. But the couldn't shake the idea that he was forgetting something, and then he said, "Oh yeah! Jane, I need to call Mike."

"What?"

"I promised I'd tell him when I landed."

"Oh, yeah, dads are like that," Jane said, nodding.

"Nah, my dad doesn't give a fuck where I am, but Mike does."

Jane made a complicated face and said, "Okay, well, yeah, you can use Skype voice, I've got money on my account."

Jesse fumbled in the geeky passport neck thing Jane had made him get for the card where he'd written important info and dialed Mike's number. It went to voicemail, and he said, "Yo, Mike, sorry, I have no clue what time it is in New Mexico right now, but uh, I'm in New Zealand, Jane picked me up and it's totally dope. Thanks again for everything. Um, I'll try to catch up with you later. Love you, bye."

"Aww, Jesse, that was adorable."

"It kinda just slipped out," Jesse said. 

"Okay. You ready for bed? Or... another round?"

"Yeah, just one more call I need to make," he said. He punched in the number and was surprised to hear a familiar voice answer, instead of voicemail. "Uh, hey, Mr. White, it's me."

"Jesse? What do you want?"

"No, I just wanted to let you know I made it to New Zealand."

"Do you need money? Because Saul's working out the logistics of all that."

"No, no, I'm fine, I just thought you might want to know. Um. How's everything going with the truck?"

"What do you care?"

"Look, Mr. White, I didn't want things to end the way they did, I just… I just wanted to do something else. But I just wanted to say, I just wanted to say, no hard feelings from me, and I hope everything's going good for you."

"Oh. I see. Yes, things are going well. I hired a very polite young man named Todd. He's really applying himself, and business is steady. In fact, I should let you go--I have arrangements to make."

"Okay, sure, bye," Jesse said, and Mr. White hung up on him.

"What was _that_?" Jane asked.

Jesse shrugged. "It felt like, kind of 11th steppy. I don't know. I just wanted him to know that I did it. And I'm done with him."

Jane grinned. "I love it. New Zealand, New Jesse."

Jesse laughed hysterically, aware that sleep deprivation was starting to catch up with him. "We did it, baby. We did it."

"Mmm. Now nobody can tell us what to do," Jane said.

"Mm-mm," Jesse murmured, then he yawned, like, a crazy big yawn.

Jane stroked his hair. "Go to sleep, Jesse. We have tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that…"

"Hey, what happened to taking it one day at a time, yo?"

Jane laughed. "Fair enough. Go to sleep, Jesse. We have tomorrow."

And even though nobody could tell Jesse what to do anymore, he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, knowing Jane was right, and they had tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that...


End file.
